


One Little Soldier, One Little Spy

by CynSyn



Series: Celestial Spektors [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Bickering, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Genderfluid Character, Hastur Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Hurt, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), POV Outsider, POV Third Person Omniscient, Please Don't Copy to Other Sites, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, Post-Trial (Good Omens), Pre-Fall (Good Omens), Sex, Sneaky Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Beelzebub (Good Omens), Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), Team Up, The Fall (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Voyeurism, War in Heaven (Good Omens), Ze/Zir Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), based on a Regina Spektor song
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn
Summary: Heaven and Hell have to figure things out after the revelations made during Crowley's trial and Aziraphale's execution. The lines between Good and Evil are becoming more blurred.Begins directly after the events ofThe Demon In The Music BoxandApres Moi, My Dear.Based on Regina Spektor's One Little Soldier((Not abandoned. Just on hiatus temporarily.))
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Celestial Spektors [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534550
Comments: 144
Kudos: 106





	1. Did You Think You’d Get To Run This World Forever?

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back!  
> This is the continuation of the Celestial Spektors story. If you haven't already, I recommend reading the first two prior to this, as it will make more sense that way. This one is going to be less angst, though it will still contain some, and more adventure. There will be a focus on a wider cast of characters as the story progresses.
> 
> The song for this story is [One Little Soldier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1eiXAUAe4GA) by Regina Spektor. Give it a listen to get a feel for the theme.  
>   
> I had intended not to get started on this until after January, but once I heard the song this is based on, wheels started turning and I had to start writing. I've got an outline, major plot points, several scenes, and loads of dialogue already written and waiting to be polished up. I know I've set the expectation that I update daily in the past, but that's just not feasible right now due to the holidays and my digital painting commitments. The expectation should be weekly updates, however, every time I set an expectation like that, I tend to update more frequently anyway. If I _do_ update more often, just consider it a bonus.
> 
> Comments give me life! Let me know what you think is happening!

The lift dinged just before the doors opened. Eric stepped back into the hallways of Heaven. He walked back towards the room he had been in only a few hours prior. “Hello?” He called out into the stark emptiness. When no one answered, he walked over to the windows that looked out across the Earth.

Under normal circumstances, demons couldn’t see through the windows in Heaven. That was one of the punishments of the Fall. Any windows that might have shown beauty or light became reflective to a demon’s eyes, showing them only what they had done to themselves. These particular windows, however, were not as small as the ones in the back of the lifts, nor were they diffused and translucent like the halls and offices. These were the windows for the Archangels viewing pleasure. Perfectly transparent, they were the most grandiose and crystal-clear of any window ever to exist. He had to squint to see past his own reflection, but the windows were large enough, and bright enough, that even in a demon’s limited capacity, the view was spectacular.

How long the demon stood, staring out the windows, he couldn’t say. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, if he could somehow manage to stand there long enough, he could remember what it felt like to belong there. Eric found himself focusing so intently through the windows that soon he was staring back at his own reflection, long eyelashes over sad eyes underneath pointed hair. He had to relax the focus of his vision to try again.

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to look away from the view. The demon reached up to touch the window, stopping just before his fingertips touched the pristine surface.

“What are you doing here?” Uriel repeated. “Answer me.”

“Lord Beelzebub has sent me with a message for the Archangel Gabriel,” Eric stated, never moving his eyes from the window. “Ze also requests someone come to collect the Holy Water from downstairs.”

“Michael should have already collected it. What is taking so long?”

“I need to speak with the Archangel Gabriel, to deliver a message.”

“You will tell me now, or I’ll smite you where you stand.”

“There are many of me, Archangel,” Eric stated, closing his eyes. “Hell will simply send another me up to deliver the message. And if you smite that one, another will be sent, and another, and another.”

Certain demons had highly-specific skills that were distinct and individual. Crowley, for example, could manipulate time to a certain degree. Eric could create disposable copies of himself. Well, he didn’t really consider them disposable, but Hell didn’t share that opinion. Hell had been destroying copies of Eric in new and exciting ways for millennia. He had felt every single one of them.

The only reason he had gotten out of collecting the Holy Water himself was because he had convinced them that, even if he _could_ manipulate Holy water into a container, if any drop touched him, when he dissolved, he would drop the jug and spill it all over again. This was after first trying to explain that he didn’t know if one of his copies being touched by Holy Water would affect the original or not. They didn’t really care about that. They were more concerned with being able to walk down the hallway in the event of another spill.

“Well?”

At the sound of Gabriel’s voice, Eric finally turned around. The Archangel stood before him, a look of irritable boredom on his face. Sandalphon stood beside him, sneering as he showed off the gold in his teeth.

“Archangel Gabriel, Lord Beelzebub requests your presence downstairs.”

“So I’ve heard,” the Archangel glared. “But I’m not some lackey on clean-up duty. I’m an Archangel. In fact, one might even say I’m _the_ Archangel.”

“This is a separate matter, your grace. This isn’t about the Holy Water, though that, too, needs to be attended.”

“Michael chose to handle that herself.” Gabriel narrowed his violet eyes. “Where is she?”

“I would suggest you speak with Lord Beelzebub about that,” Eric found it uncomfortable looking into Gabriel’s eyes. It was almost like looking into Hastur’s, except with Hastur, he knew what to expect. Hastur was _going to_ hurt him. Gabriel struck the demon as the sort who would draw it out instead, to toy with his prey and savor the uncertainty of it all. Hastur didn’t actually care about fear. He simply wanted to damage. Gabriel, however, wanted to dominate, both physically and mentally.

Eric was generally quite good at reading people. One had to be in his line of work. Not everyone knew that he retained the memories from each of his copies up to and including the moment of their untimely demises. He had learned quite a bit about the nature of supernatural entities and the motivations fueling their actions. He understood that there were many types of danger. Sometimes, a destruction was welcomed in contrast to the extended danger of a situation. Yes, he was quite confident in his ability to determine motivations. This was no exception.

“If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to your appointment,” Eric said quietly. “Either way, I’ll be leaving now.”

Gabriel let out an annoyed sigh. “Very well. We’ll follow you,” he said, motioning for Sandalphon to join him.

“The invitation is for you alone, Archangel Gabriel.”

“Why is that?”

“I couldn’t say, your Grace,” Eric said quietly. “It’s above my pay grade. I’ll be going now.” The demon turned toward the exit.

A hand grabbed him by the arm. Eyes lowered, Eric stood still, saying nothing. “You will wait for me to make a decision,” Gabriel said, sending an icy shiver through the demon.

“I answer to Lord Beelzebub. I am not one of yours to command, your Grace,” Eric replied, though he did not resist nor did he look up.

At the demon’s words, the Archangel loosened his grip. “No, I suppose not. Very well. Let’s go.”

“And the Holy Water?”

“I’ll collect it,” Sandalphon offered.

“No,” Gabriel said, leaning in to speak into the other Archangel’s ear. “There are too many things happening all at once. Until I know what’s going on, I need someone up here that I know can trust right now. Have Uriel send someone down, but say nothing more than that.”

Eric held the lift door as he waited for the Archangel to catch up. Once they were both inside, he pressed the button for the sub-basement.

After a few minutes, Gabriel spoke. “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”

Eric said nothing.

“I said, it’s a beautiful view,” the Archangel repeated. “I couldn’t help but notice you seemed to be enjoying the view earlier.”

Eric didn’t want to have this conversation, but it was a long way down, and the demon was essentially trapped with the Archangel for the next fifteen minutes at least. “Beg pardon, your Grace?”

“Ah, humor. That’s pretty funny, as if a demon could ever have pardon.” He flashed his trademark phony smile at the demon.

Eric half-smiled in response before looking back towards the wall.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you enjoyed the view while you could. You should consider yourself lucky. Demons don’t deserve to see beautiful things. That’s why you usually only see your reflection here. Do you think that’s for punishment, or do you think that’s for pride?" Gabriel laughed, playfully swatting Eric on the shoulder. "Ah, but you’re just a lesser demon. You probably don’t think about anything at all.”

Eric wondered what Gabriel saw when he looked into the glass. Never before had he been so eager to get back to Hell.

As the lift doors opened, Eric gestured for the Archangel to exit before following him into the hallway.

They rounded the corner towards the makeshift courtroom, viewing the carnage all around. There were cracks, dents, scorches, and claw marks on the walls and floor. Drops and smears of ichor mixed with broken feathers of many colors danced a deranged pattern across the floor.

Gabriel’s brows furrowed as he visually took in the remains of the scene before him. “What happened here?”

“I wasn’t here for this part,” Eric replied. “The Demon Crowley had already left by the time I returned the Hellfire to the furnace and came here, but some of this is new to me. It must have happened since I came to collect you.”

Gabriel grabbed Eric harshly by the shoulder and spun him around. “What do you mean, the Demon Crowley _left_?”

The demon flinched at the Archangel’s grip. “What I mean, your Grace, is that he walked out of Hell before I returned.”

“If Hell wasn’t going to execute him, why did you need Holy water?”

“It was a trial, your Grace. It wasn’t just an execution as your lot did upstairs.”

Gabriel’s grip on the demon loosened as guilt flickered briefly across his face. “Yes, right, I remember. So he was found innocent, then?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I wasn’t here when all of this happened. I came in after _he left_.”

The demon stopped walking upon coming across a wet floor covered in broken glass and sludge next to a bathtub that was less than half-full. “I can’t go any further than this.” He pointed towards the door across the way. “If you go through that door, you’ll find Lord Beelzebub, along with the answers to your questions.”

Gabriel looked across the scene before him, trying to figure out what could have possibly happened here. He gingerly toed his foot into the water pooling on the floor, sending ripples out into the room across the surface. As he watched the ripples spread out, following them in their path, he caught a slight glint of gold just under the edge of the tub. Crouching down carefully, he reached underneath and pulled out a golden ring.

Gabriel let out a small gasp. “This is Michael’s ring,” he said quietly, his eyes widening in realization. He looked around briefly, tucked the ring into his jacket pocket, and made his way towards the door across the room. Not bothering to knock, he opened the door.

“Beelzebub, what’s going on here? Where’s Michael?”

The Prince of Hell looked the Archangel in the eyes. “There iszzz no Michael.”

Gabriel cocked his head to the side with a sneer. “Don’t play games with me. After the day I’ve had, I don’t have the patience for it.”

“I thought you lot were supposzzzed to be filled with patience,” the Prince of Hell stated.

Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not today, Beelzebub.”

“Have you arranged for someone to collect the Holy water, or will you be handling that yourself?” Ze asked.

“I’ve delegated it to Sandalphon to delegate it to Uriel to delegate someone to handle it.”

Beelzebub stared at the Archangel cynically. “How do you ever accomplish anything at all upstairszzz?”

“You’re one to talk. Have you seen the mess out there?”

“Have I szzzeen the…” Beelzebub looked at Gabriel as if ze couldn’t believe what was just said. “Of course I’ve seen the mess out there, you great blithering idiot! We were just talking about it!”

“Yes, well, perhaps you could use some help with your organization. I suppose I could be persuaded to—”

“Stop talking, you fucking _weapon_. I didn’t call you down here for thiszzz. There are more important things to discusszzz”

“Speaking of—”

“Do you _ever_ shut up?”

“I was told the Demon Crowley just…” Gabriel waved his hands in the air with a look of irritation on his face, “W _alked out_ of here. Care to explain yourself?”

“I do not answer to you, Archangel. Down here, you answer to _me_. I am _choosing_ to impart information upon you in the interest of…” The demon paused, pressing zir lips together in a tight line, looking the Archangel up and down. “Never mind. Juszzzt leave. I have nothing more to szzzay.”

“Very well, but I’m not leaving without Michael.”

Beelzebub grinned. “Oh, but I think you are.”

“Why did I find Michael’s ring underneath the tub out there?”

The Prince of Hell slammed zir tiny hands on the desk, delighting in the way the towering Archangel above zir startled. “Becauszzze that ring iszzz Holy, and not fit for a Demon.”

The Archangel’s eyes widened slowly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” the prince drawled with a slight grin, “That the Archangel Michael is _no more_.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Nothing.” Beelzebub leaned forward. “Everything that haszzz happened to her, she brought upon herself. Along with what she did to everyone else down here. And, I’ve been informed, one of your angelszzz.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabriel blustered.

“Oh? You don’t know anything about a certain brainwashed Princzzzipality who, aszzz it turns out, can withstand Hellfire?” Beelzebub scowled and picked a bit of lint off of zir sleeve. “Seemszzz like a lot to forget. Perhaps you’ve grown too complacent.”

“I can assure you, I don’t know anything about that,” Gabriel said coolly.

“ _You do_ , you miserable prat. You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about. Don’t bother denying it. I _already_ know. Crowley told us all about it.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows furrowed. “How did he know anything about what we did to Az—”

Beelzebub grinned. “And now you’ve confirmed it.”

“Fine,” Gabriel sighed, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. But how would _he_ have known any of that?”

“According to what Michael had to szzzay, the two traitors have been fucking one another for thousands of yearszzz.”

The Archangel went pale. “What?” It was barely a whisper.

“You didn’t know? Michael had lotszzz to say about it.”

“I didn’t even know they _knew_ each other on a personal level until yesterday when Michael brought me a few pictures.” Gabriel sat down wearily in the chair across from Beelzebub’s desk. “But they were perfectly innocent photographs, other than the fact that they were together in them at all, that is.” He sighed heavily.

Beelzebub smirked at the Archangel. “Oh, they _know_ each other, all right. Biblically.”

“Michael never mentioned…” The Archangel was distraught. “How… I don’t understand how this is possible. If Michael knew this, why would she have kept this information to herself?”

“Yeszzz, well, it appears that Michael had been buszzzy since before the Fall. In fact, they orchestrated much of it.”

“I don’t understand.” He sounded so lost.

“Michael should have fallen long ago, Gabriel. She’szzz the reason most of us did, and not because she caught us doing something wrong. She guided a lot of us into it. It waszzz only a matter of time before it caught up with her.”

“You’re lying,” the Archangel accused. “You have to be. You’re a demon. Why should I believe anything you have to say?” He tried to look smug, but couldn’t quite muster enough confidence to do so.

“I don’t care if you believe me or not,” the Prince of Hell said with an air of boredom. “It doesn’t change the facts.”

Gabriel rubbed his hands down his face, groaning in frustration. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Consider it a professional courtesy.” Beelzebub’s face was indifferent. “Aszzz I understand it, you were duped aszzz well?” The prince’s voice lifted slightly in question as ze looked over the Archangel with expressionless eyes. “Though I’m told you were complicit enough that you might be joining this one in due time.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened as he thought about what Aziraphale had said to him mere hours earlier. “I’m no demon.”

“Not yet.” Beelzebub grinned, sending a few errant flies to buzz about Gabriel’s face. “But you’re much closer than you realizzze.”

Gabriel looked zir up and down with contempt and disgust. “I’m not like you,” he spat.

“No,” Beelzebub replied coldly. “You’re worszzze.”

“Hardly,” Gabriel scoffed, looking down his nose at Beelzebub with disgust.

“I know what you did to that Principality, Gabriel. You might not have known everything that waszzz going on, but you knew exactly what you were doing with _him_. You reprogrammed an angel, for Hell’s sake! But, I’d wager you still think you’re szzzo holier-than-thou.”

Gabriel’s sharp laugh cut a swath through the stale air, adding to the baseline sense of dread in the room. “I’m the Archangel-fucking-Gabriel. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Iszzz that a threat?”

“It’s a promise, sunshine.”

Beelzebub tilted zir head, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, before standing up to lean across the desk. “So you’ve said who _you_ are,” the Prince of Hell began to speak just quietly enough to force the Archangel to lean forward a bit to hear. “But do you realizzze who _I_ am? Have you any idea what I know, now, that you _don’t_?”

Gabriel laughed condescendingly. “What could you possibly—”

“Silenczzze!” Beelzebub shouted and slammed zir tiny fists against the desk, relishing the way it made Gabriel jump slightly. “I adviszzze you to listen to my wordszzz, and heed them carefully, _Archangel-fucking-Gabriel_. You’re treading awfully closzzze to territory you know nothing about, and you can believe me when I szzzay that, particularly in this case, ignoranczzze,” the prince paused to look down, swallowing the bile that rose in zir throat. Taking a deep breath, ze turned the intensity that was zir icy blue eyes towards the Archangel and continued the warning. “Iszzz not bliss.”

The Archangel glared back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It meanszzz,” the prince leaned in closer still, “That between the two of uszzz, I know who _I_ am, and I know who _you_ are, too. I can see past your ridiculouszzz suit into what passeszzz as your soul. There’szzz a spark, deep within, lying dormant for centuries. But it isn’t Holy fire, Archangel, not at all.” Zir lips curled into a snarl as ze spoke. “It’s something far more insidiouszzz, and it’s _festering_.” The buzzing intensified as more flies crowded between the two. “You’re _tainted_ , Gabriel, and I can smell your stench even from here.”

Gabriel swatted as flies began to land on him. “What are you planning to do?”

“Me? Personally?” Beelzebub shook zir head with a grimace as ze leaned back into zir chair. “Not a damned thing.”


	2. Never Questioning Your Motives Or Your Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub has a crisis of responsibility while Gabriel has a crisis of Faith.

“Are you trying to frighten me?” Gabriel asked cautiously.

“That dependszzz.” Beelzebub tilted zir head to the side slightly. “ _Are_ you frightened?”

“Not at all,” Gabriel stated calmly.

Beelzebub shrugged. “It’s just aszzz well. I don’t want you down here, anyway.”

The Archangel’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why not?”

The Prince of Hell’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Did you _want_ to be down here?”

“Of course not,” he laughed through a grimace. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what you’re trying to get at. Are _you_ scared, Beelzebub? Are you scared I’d come in here and make you look bad by making everything better?”

The Prince of Hell looked at the Archangel incredulously. “No! You saw the mess out there. I’m saying I’ve already got my handszzz full dealing with the new one I’ve got now, don’t I? But at least _she_ knowszzz the value of _shutting her mouth_.”

The two glared at one another when the intercom on the desk buzzed.

“What?” Ze moaned, rolling zir eyes.

Hastur’s voice was staticky and sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a tin can on a string. “Just letting you know, we’ve finally got wank-wings over here secured.”

“Fine,” Beelzebub sighed. “Asszzzign a guard and get back to work.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes as he pondered over the question he wasn’t certain he wanted to ask.

Beelzebub picked up on it right away. A wicked grin spread across zir face. “Fancy a trip to the zzzoo?”

“Zoo?”

“You’ll see.” Ze walked across to a wall and pressed zir hand against it.

The two were no longer in an office, but now instead in a dark room with vertical and horizontal crisscrossed bars lining one side of the room with a Hellhound chained to the other. A shriek that would have blown out the eardrums of a human cut through Gabriel’s head as he heard his name in the cry followed by a sickening thud next to him. The squealing vibration of metal rubbing harshly against metal ran down his spine as he was grabbed and dragged into a pair of large, round, fiery orange eyes slit like a cat boring down on him through the darkness. With a snap of his fingers, a light cut through the shadows. On the other side of the bars, connected to the arms that grabbed him, stood a disturbing figure.

“Gabriel!” It screeched. “You’ve come to bring me home!”

He struggled against the strength of the creature’s grip as it strained at the bars of its cell.

“It’s too late for me, but I can save you, Gabriel! Let me out, and I’ll do anything you want. I can help you set things right. We can fix it, just like before, but this time it will be different! It will be _better_! You took care of Aziraphale, but Crowley _survived_ ,” the creature hissed. “But I can take care of him for you now. You needn’t worry. I’ll do it myself. There’s nothing holding me back now. Just let me out and take me _home_. Please, Gabriel. I can’t stay here. They’re going to keep me prisoner, here, forever in the darkness. I just want to go _home_.”

Still in shock, Gabriel blurted out, “Aziraphale survived.”

“What?” The grip against Gabriel loosened slightly.

He pried the clawing hands off of his suit with a rip of fabric and gaped in horror at the creature before him. Cat-like ears twitched atop a rounded, feathered avian face, razor-sharp beak opening and closing futilely as the creature pulled its talons back to rub them together nervously. Pleading owlish cat eyes met his own violet gaze as he processed what he was seeing. From the neck down, there was no difference from any other angel, save for a few details. It wore the shredded remains of Michael’s favorite suit. What was once delicate white gossamer lace was now dull and grey, hanging in tatters, spattered with red and black stains. There were bits of dried ichor and blood along the twitching mottled brown feathers on wings that could no longer be put away.

“Gabriel,” Beelzebub began, “Allow me to introduzzzce you to Andras.”

“What did you _do_ to her? She’s covered in blood.”

“It isn’t herszzz.”

Gabriel turned his head sharply towards Beelzebub.

“You saw the mess out there,” the Prince of Hell explained. “She took out at least four of us with the Holy water before she fully Fell,” Beelzebub paused for a moment, seeming to pale. “Once she had changed, she ripped apart half a dozen more with her bare talonszzz within minutes when we tried to restrain her. I don’t just mean their bodies, either.” Ze leaned in closer to Gabriel, never taking zir eyes off of Andras. “She ripped into their _essenzzzce_. I have no idea if they’ll even recover. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It all happened so faszzzt.”

He tilted his head as he turned to face zir. “The fighting?”

“ _All_ of it. I’ve never seen a Fall complete that quickly. But I supposzzze it might have something to do with the fact that she waszzz already _in_ Hell at the time and didn’t have as far to Fall to get here. No sudden stop at the end means less recovery time. Not to mention how far gone she already waszzz before it happened.”

“What do you mean by far gone?” Gabriel asked in earnest.

“The more corruption a demon haszzz in their soul, the less they look like an angel.” Ze looked Gabriel up and down. “I imagine when you finally Fall, you’ll be indiszzztinguishable from a heaping pile of dung.”

“I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

“Then you clearly don’t underszzztand your role here.”

He rolled his eyes and stepped tentatively back towards the cage.

“I found your ring,” he said softly, fishing it out of his pocket and presenting it to the creature before him.

She held up a hand, showing him the thick knuckles where sharp talons tapered down at the ends of her slender fingers. “It… doesn’t fit now.”

“Oh, Michael,” he sighed, tucking the ring back in his pocket.

She cringed at the sound of her old name, wrapping her arms around herself and shrinking away. “It’s Andras now,” she said with a catch in her breath.

Though it was unlike him to want or need to drink, Gabriel’s mouth felt dry as he looked once more at what used to be the Archangel Michael. He ran his hand down over his face. “I should go,” he said, turning around to leave.

“Wait, please,” Andras screeched. “Don’t leave me here! Don’t go, please! Gabriel, stop! Come back!”

The Archangel touched the wall to return to Beelzebub’s office and didn’t stop walking until he was inside of the lift, pressing the button for the top floor.

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. _What does this all mean,_ he wondered _, and where do I go from here?_

“What am I supposed to do, Lord?” Gabriel lifted his hands up and his head to look towards the ceiling. “What do you want? What is next for me?” When no answer came, he lowered his hands and rubbed his eyes.

_I look so tired_ , he thought as he noticed his reflection. The Archangel leaned closer to get a better look. He pulled the skin taught with a finger to view the purpling beneath his eyes. When he had seen enough, he huffed an annoyed breath as he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the lift.

Gabriel wondered how he was supposed to serve The Almighty now. He had always been so certain, so sure, before.

Before Aziraphale.

Before Crowley.

Before he lost his friend.

He thought about the former Archangel. Were they still friends? Could he be friends with a demon? Or had they ever really been friends at all? Michael had kept so much from him, information he _should_ have had. Shouldn’t he have? He wasn’t so sure now.

_Is what Beelzebub said true? Was Michael using me?_ His thoughts struggled within him as the lift climbed higher and higher. _Or was she trying to protect me?_

The lift dinged as the doors opened to the top floor. Gabriel sighed and stepped out to find Sandalphon waiting for him, reaching his hand out in greeting. He gave the other Archangel a half-smile, accepted his offered hand, and the two walked through the halls to his office.

Gabriel sat heavily in his chair as Sandalphon sat on the other side of the desk across from him. “Things are so out of control right now, Sandalphon,” he said. “There’s, there’s simply no _precedent_ for any of this.”

“What did Beelzebub have to say?”

Gabriel groaned as he leaned over the desk, his head in his hands. He scratched his fingers through his hair before he lifted his head back up to speak. “Well, for starters, the Demon Crowley _also_ survived his execution.”

Sandalphon sat, silently startled. “Gabriel,” he began with more timid caution than one would expect from the Archangel known not-so-affectionately as _Gabriel’s attack hound._ “Where is Michael?”

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest tightly as he sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “Michael has Fallen.”

Sandalphon gasped loudly. “How?”

Gabriel’s jaw twitched. “I’m still trying to figure everything out right now. I’m afraid I don’t have any answers that I can give you yet.” He presumed that if Michael hadn’t told him everything, he at least knew more than anyone else in Heaven. If Sandalphon didn’t know what he and Michael had done, there was no point in telling him now and creating guilt over being complicit with the machinations of one who was now a demon. After all, Sandalphon and Metatron had been human once. They were brought in to fulfill specific roles, and had both done so admirably. They followed orders without question, because they had Faith, and She had rewarded that unwavering belief in Her with their current positions in Heaven. He didn’t want to challenge a devotion like that any more than he had to. Faith was a valuable concept. He could feel the Faith and Love Sandalphon had in The Almighty, and even in Gabriel, radiating off of the other Archangel in waves. Gabriel wished he could say the same for himself.

Sandalphon opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it as his eyes searched Gabriel’s face. His brow was furrowed in concern. “You look… different.”

“I suppose I’m tired,” Gabriel replied, thinking back to how he looked in his reflection in the lift.

_My reflection in the lift._

Gabriel’s eyes widened as a biting cold began to seep into his extremities. **_I_** _shouldn’t **see** my reflection in the lift. _

Panic was pouring in, soaking through his chest, wicking up his spine and seeping into his mind.

“Gabriel, are you all right?” Sandalphon’s voice sounded so far away, as if—

_Is this Falling?_

Terrified, wide violet eyes darted around the room, searching for everything and finding nothing of comfort. Gabriel quickly reached up to touch the wings pinned to his shoulder. He relaxed slightly when he could still feel Grace as his fingertips brushed the golden surface.

He vaguely remembered what he had been thinking about when he saw his reflection, and decided it coincided with how he had let Aziraphale’s words shake him before Beelzebub mentioned his festering, and just now when Sandalphon noticed the change in him. _It only happened when I began to question my role, my Faith. I’m not really Falling. I’m being Tested. There’s still time_ , he thought _. I can fix this._

“Gabriel?”

Gabriel’s eye twitched slightly as he smiled back at the only being in all of existence, other than The Almighty Herself, that he felt he could trust and count on. “I need to fix things, Sandalphon, and I’m going to need your help to do it.”

“Anything you need, you know I’ll gladly do it,” Sandalphon offered.

“I do. I know. I’m going to have to go away for a bit. I have some business to attend. I’ll need someone I can trust to keep things running smoothly up here in my stead,” he reached out to grasp Sandalphon’s hand. “And there is no one in all of existence that I can trust Heaven with more than you.”

Sandalphon beamed, in as much as an accomplished smiter has the capacity to do so.

“But I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Gabriel continued, giving the other Archangel’s hand a pat. “Before I go, I’m going to assign all of Michael’s previous duties to Uriel. She will now be in charge of Earth Observations. All you really need to do is keep an eye on everyone and make sure they’re doing their job. But we don’t want any more slip-ups.” He leaned closer across the desk. “And now that we know both of the traitors not only survived, but are… _together_ , if you wanted to increase security around here a bit, I think that would be a good idea. Can’t have any… _rogue agents_ showing up.”

“What do you mean they’re _together_?”

Gabriel leaned in even closer to whisper. “They’re _fornicating_.”

“Like humans?” Sandalphon sneered. “That’s disgusting.”

Gabriel cocked his head to the side slightly. “You were a human once.”

“That was a long time ago.”

Gabriel exhaled loudly, giving Sandalphon’s hand another squeeze before standing up. “All right. I need to go.” He waved his hand over the top of his desk, revealing a stack of paperwork. He pressed his thumb at the bottom of the top page. His personal sigil glowed softly on the page as he lifted his thumb and pushed the stack towards Sandalphon. “This is the paperwork for Uriel. I have Faith in your ability to handle things while I’m gone. Get creative, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The two Archangels leaned into a hearty embrace, patting each other firmly on the backs, and parted, headed in opposite directions in the hallway as they left the office.

Gabriel kept his eyes closed in the lift on his way back down to Hell. Once the doors opened, he made his way straight to Beelzebub’s office, ignoring everyone and everything else in his path. He reached for the knob, but hesitated briefly, deciding to knock instead.

“What?” He heard zir groan from behind the door.

Gabriel cracked the door partly open, poking his head through. “I need a moment alone with Andras,” Gabriel said quietly. “I’d like to say a proper goodbye.”

Beelzebub looked at him for a moment, considering. Ze nodded silently and gestured towards the wall.

Andras threw herself at the bars of her cage as Gabriel entered her prison chamber. “You came back! I knew you’d come back. Have you come to take me home?”

The Hellhound lifted its head, growling menacingly. Gabriel ran his hand across the top of its head, putting it to sleep.

“Not yet,” he said as he stepped away from the sleeping guard dog to run his fingers along the edge of the bars. “We have some loose ends to tie up first.”

A gleeful shriek shattered all of the glass in Beelzebub's office. Every piece of paperwork on Beelzebub’s desk flew into the air as a blur of grey and brown flew past, knocking the office door fully off of the hinges.

Beelzebub was knocked back. Ze pulled zirself up off of the floor and onto zir feet. Ze walked through the broken doorway, following the path of damage until it stopped just below a hole in the ceiling.

Beelzebub's voice was softly emphatic. “ _Fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to be cleaning the kitchen so I could get some holiday baking done. Naturally, I wrote instead.  
> Will no one stop my sinful hand?


	3. One Little Soldier, Talking To The Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale are finding ways to enjoy their retirement. Beelzebub reaches out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, if that's your thing!  
> I ended up getting another chapter done. Oops.
> 
> This one starts out where we left off in DITMB and AMMD, and jumps right into that Explicit rating. If you don't want to read about sexy times, and it's totally valid if you don't, you can skip that part and start reading at "Ten minutes later..."

Crowley and Aziraphale, in a state of joy at no longer being beholden to Heaven or Hell, felt like celebrating. As they had already spent the last several decades exploring what the bookshop had to offer, it was decided that this celebration should take the form of discovering every surface, vertical or horizontal, in Crowley’s flat.

They were barely through the front door when Aziraphale hoisted Crowley up, wrapping the demon’s legs around his waist, to carry him into the office.

“Shouldn’t we have dinner or something first?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale sat him down on top of the desk.

“Shh,” the angel answered as he pressed his hand gently upon the demon’s chest to guide him down. “No time.”

Aziraphale made fast work getting Crowley’s trousers and pants down with the practiced precision befitting a Principality. He leaned forward, nipping at the demon’s hip while slipping his hand underneath to prepare him.

Crowley propped himself up on his elbows. “Is this our life now?”

Aziraphale leaned further above Crowley to pull in closer with his free hand. “Possibly,” he grinned as he grazed the demon’s bottom lip with his teeth.

Once he was ready, Crowley looked up at Aziraphale to ask, “So how do you want m—”

The demon couldn’t even finish his sentence before the angel was moving him around on the desk, positioning him just so. With his head hanging upside down over the edge of the desk, he gripped another edge with one of his hands as the angel lifted his legs to rest Crowley’s feet on his shoulders. Aziraphale lifted the demon by the hips and slowly pressed in.

Crowley closed his eyes, reveling in the heightened sensations as the blood rushed to his head, each thrust more intense than the last. The position Aziraphale was holding him in, uncomfortable under normal circumstances, was perfect for hitting his prostate just right. Crowley’s eyes flew open as he was getting closer, just in time to see Beelzebub staring at them through the tv screen from his upside-down point of view.

“Oh, fuck!”

Unfortunately, as Aziraphale hadn’t yet noticed the television, Crowley’s shout only spurred him on further, causing the demon to slide forward and knock the remote he was reaching for into the floor.

“So it’s true, then.”

Aziraphale let out a sharp yip at the unwelcome voice, dropping Crowley’s hips with a thud. He leaned forward quickly in an attempt to preserve his demon’s modesty with the hem of his own shirt.

Also unfortunately, this was just enough to send Crowley over the edge.

“I’ll call back in a few minutes,” Beelzebub said. “Hopefully you can be cleaned up and dressed by then.”

Ten minutes later, the television popped back on. “Are you two done?”

“I thought you were going to leave him alone,” Aziraphale glared towards the screen.

“Thingszzz have changed,” Beelzebub replied. “We need to talk. All three of us.”

“After what Crowley told me of his trial, I’d think you’d be too busy dealing with Michael to have time to talk.”

Crowley shot a confused look at Aziraphale from behind his sunglasses.

“Funny you should mention that. Will the two of you come to my office?”

“Why can’t you just say whatever it is you have to say to us now?”

“It iszzzn’t safe.”

Crowley finally spoke up. “Is Gabriel with you? If this is some sort of trap…”

“I know you have no reaszzzon to trust me after everything, but iszzzn’t. And don’t say his name again. Just come down here and I’ll answer all of your questionszzz.”

“I don’t know, it—”

“If I told you that you were right about everything you said before you left, would it make a differenczzze?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, hoping for some sense of clarity on what Beelzebub meant by that. Beelzebub assumed it was a look asking permission.

“We’re on our way,” Aziraphale replied.

Aziraphale filled Crowley in on what was said during his trial. He had hoped to avoid this conversation, but if they were to continue on, it had to appear that Crowley had been the one downstairs, which required that he be informed of everything.

Once they got to the entrance to Hell, they ducked down the escalator quickly and into the lift. Once they were in the sub-basement, Beelzebub met them and took them on a tour of the damage, telling them the story of the events from when ‘Crowley’ left Hell up until Beelzebub called.

“You two need to track them down,” the Prince of Hell informed them.

“And then what?” Crowley asked.

Beelzebub looked at the demon incredulously. “And _catch_ them.”

“And _then_ what?”

Beelzebub’s hands waved through the air. “How should I know?”

“Well, _you’re_ the Prince of Hell!” Crowley exclaimed. “And _you’re_ the one who asked.”

“And _you two_ are the ones who have been fooling the rest of us since the dawn of time. _You’re_ the ones who threw a giant wrench into the Great Plan and stopped Armageddon.” Ze leaned in closer to them to half-whisper, “You’re also the ones who stared Satan down and made him retreat. And,” reverting to zir regular voice, ze continued, “You’re also both immune to Hellfire and Holy water.”

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had a response to that line of logic.

“Figure it out,” Beelzebub threw zir hands in the air. “Whatever the two of you are, that’s what you _do_!”

“As I recall, you put him on trial for that just this morning,” Aziraphale countered.

“And the situation haszzz changed many times since, haszzz it not?”

“Fair point,” Crowley replied.

“Liszzzten, Crowley. I’m not unreaszzzonable. You know how it iszzz down here. Someone haszzz to keep the…”Ze seemed to stifle a groan of disgust, “Peace. I’m all for chaoszzz and diszzzcord, but not in my own backyard, you know?”

Crowley nodded. He had basically felt the same way about Armageddon, after all. It was fine in theory, but in practice, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“Between you and me, I really didn’t want to go through with any of it, either. But it was my job. I waszzz juszzzt following orderzzz.”

“You know, that’s what the—”

“Don’t you _dare_ compare me to a Nazi, Crowley. I have _standardszzz_.”

“Point taken.”

“So you’re saying you want to, to help, then?” Aziraphale asked.

“No!” Beelzebub looked as if ze swallowed a fly.

“Oh.”

“I don’t want to help anyone. But I’ve got enough on my handszzz trying to figure out a better way to contain Andras without having to deal with Gabriel, too. I need him staying out of my businesszzz. Do you know that in addition to breaking her out, that wanker actually tried to give me tipszzz on how to run Hell? Who does he think he iszzz? That… That—"

“The Archangel Fucking Dickhead?” Aziraphale interjected sweetly while Crowley’s eyes went wide.

Beelzebub pointed at the angel. “That’zzz the one.” Ze turned to look at Crowley. “I’m starting to get what you see in thiszzz angel, Crowley.”

Aziraphale preened, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle on his trousers with a smug grin.

“You’re awfully proud of that,” Crowley muttered.

“Well, it’s not every day that the Prince of Hell pays one a compliment, as I’m certain _you’re_ aware.” The angel batted his eyes at Crowley.

“Is that a jab?”

“Would you like it to be?” Aziraphale a flash of pink flicked across his lips as he grinned.

“Enough! I may enjoy the concept of getting sick, but I don’t want to be the one who does it, especially on my own deszzzk.”

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow at zir.

“That was a requeszzzt, not an order,” Beelzebub stated.

Crowley stole a glance at Aziraphale from behind his sunglasses. _Oh, you are a beautiful bastard, aren’t you?_ He thought _. I wish I could have seen you in action. I would love to have watched what you did to get even Beelzebub afraid of us._

“What I don’t understand,” Aziraphale began, “Is how is it that Michael Fell, but Gabriel hasn’t?”

“Gabriel thinkszzz he’s following the Divine Plan. He thinkszzz he’s doing Her bidding. Michael followed her own interestszzz.”

Aziraphale was intrigued. “How do you know?”

Crowley turned to him. “You know how some demons have a specialized skill or whatever, right? Well, if someone’s soul is tainted, Lord Beelzebub can smell that.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide in wonder. “You can smell someone’s taint?”

Crowley’s head flung back in a quacking bark of laughter.

“Oh, grow up, noodle-dick.” Ze sat back in zir chair, staring at the angel and demon sitting befor zir. “How in the Heaven did the two of you nitwitsmanage to stop the Apocalypszzze? I’m not entirely certain you could pool your resources to stop a drain.”

“Imagine what we could do if we were at all competent,” Crowley laughed, wiping a tear from his eye as he tried to settle down.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said after some time.

Crowley grinned and leaned over towards Aziraphale to explain. “See, Angel, the taint is—”

“I know what _that_ is, you idiot,” Aziraphale scoffed, swatting at Crowley’s shoulder. “I misspoke. Or it came out wrong. Or, rather, my partner is an immature fiend.” He turned to face Beelzebub once more. “What I mean is, I don’t understand what—"

“It’s about intent, really,” Beelzebub answered before Crowley could interject another helpful comment.

“Really?” Crowley said, sarcastically. “You know I never _meant_ to Fall, right?”

“Not many of us did, back then. Well, we didn’t know what Falling _was_ , now, did we? It was different in the old dayszzz,” Beelzebub spoke quietly. “If it hadn’t been for Lucifer’s charm and Michael’s manipulation, there probably would have only been maybe two or three hundred who Fell.” The prince closed zir eyes while ze sank into a memory. “In your case, whisperszzz became the questions you formed that you had no right to ask. Many of the others were tricked into it, tempted, ironically enough, into deszzzireszzz we had no capacity to fathom… Consent cannot exiszzzt without comprehension, but I didn’t _know_ that at the time. None of us did. We were angels. The concept of doubt, that waszzzn’t… It… Most of us, we only knew love.” Zir blue eyes met with Crowley’s gold. “ _You_ know I didn’t want any of this, _either_.”

Crowley sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit. “I do, you’re right. I remember.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t quite follow,” Aziraphale said.

“Lots of us, well, most of us, really, didn’t actually know what was happening. Those of us that Fell first, especially.” Crowley gestured between himself and Beelzebub. “We didn’t really _want_ to rebel against Heaven. We just hung around the wrong people.”

Aziraphale noticed a strange sort of sadness pass over Beelzebub’s face as Crowley spoke. “You’ve never explained any of this before,” the angel said quietly. “I’ve always wondered, but I knew it was a sore subject for you.”

“It’s… It’s not an easy thing to talk about, really. Mostly it’s just the demons who _wanted_ this, who actively _chose_ to become demons, that talk about it,” Crowley explained.

“Or those who have to put on a good show out of responsibility,” the Prince of Hell interjected, looking more broken than anyone would have expected. “Politics, really. Make it sound like it was all some glorious revolution. Part of the job when you’re a Lord of Hell.”

Crowley looked at Beelzebub, opening his mouth as if he intended to say something to zir, but thought better of it. He turned back to Aziraphale. “Then there were those angels who knew, sort of, what had happened to us, but wanted to try to help save us from ourselves and bring us back into Heaven. Like Hastur, as an example. In the war, he was out trying to heal wounds on _both_ sides.”

“Hastur?” Aziraphale asked, unable to mask his surprise.

“You would have known him aszzz the Archangel Raphael back then,” Beelzebub explained.

“Hastur? That unpleasant fellow with the frog on his head?”

“That’s the one,” Crowley confirmed. “Saved me from a smiting, as a matter of fact.”

The angel was still skeptical. “Hastur.”

“Yup.”

“But he can’t stand you,” Aziraphale remarked.

“Common reaction,” Beelzebub commented.

Crowley smiled sarcastically at the prince before turning his attention back to the angel. “That’s… There’s a reason for that. He was struck down by another angel and thrown into the pit when he was distracted trying to help _me_.”

“But that couldn’t have been your fault.”

“Yeah, well, after he hit bottom, he didn’t see it that way anymore. Point is,” Crowley continued, “That he didn’t so much Fall as he was _pushed_. But he certainly managed to steer into the skid.”

“Bloom where you’re planted,” Beelzebub added. “He actually fought against it, at first. That’s where the maggot thing started.”

“Oh, of course!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “He was a healer. I remember how those were used medicinally long ago. Physicians used them to eat away diseased tissue, didn’t they?”

“Right.” Crowley nodded with the unspoken thought, _and now his eat **everything**_. “It didn’t stay that way, him trying to fight against his new role, but that’s how it started.” The Serpent of Eden grew quiet. “Hell does things to a demon. It’s different for everyone, but it’s always _there,_ something to remind you of the demon you are, no matter how much you try to fight it.” The whites of Crowley’s eyes bled out into gold as he lifted them to look into Aziraphale’s own with a guilty expression.

“I _know_ who you are,” the angel said as he took the demon’s face between his hands. “And I’m better for it.” Aziraphale pressed his forehead against Crowley’s and the demon closed his eyes with a slight shudder, melting into the warmth of the affectionate touch.

Beelzebub watched the two of them with a distant look of longing. “I wasn’t even anybody special, back then,” ze said with quiet melancholy. “I barely even had a name. But _he_ made me feel like I was the only star in the sky, next to him. But it was all lies. He didn’t really… He had an agenda, and I fit into it.”

Crowley looked up as Beelzebub spoke as if he were really seeing zir again for the first time since the Fall. “Uh, I, I don’t… ” He stammered, “Look, I don’t know what you want to hear, right? So I’m just gonna tell you the truth, or at least, how I see it. You can take that for whatever it’s worth to you.”

The Prince of Hell cocked zir head to the side cynically.

“Right, o-okay,” Crowley tried to explain himself. “So, you… You run Hell, right? How could a random, lesser angel end up with that much power and authority?”

“Crowley, I told you, I was a _nobody_.” Ze shifted zir gaze to the floor. “I wasn’t important.”

“Maybe not to Heaven, but you were to _him_. He used you, he definitely did, but he used us all. Everything else? That was real. I remember it. He wanted to take care of you, make sure you had everything you ever wanted. Trouble is, he never actually _asked_ you what that was. He just made the decisions for you.”

The Prince of Hell, eyes still turned away, drew in a shaking breath and said nothing.

“It… It doesn’t excuse what he did to you. I’m not saying you should forgive him, and I’m not saying what he did was at all acceptable. But you should probably know that he chose _you_ , a nothing angel, as you’ve called yourself, over countless others. He could have used you the way he used the rest of us for our abilities, and he _did_ use us,” Crowley grimaced as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth, “but he placed you above all the rest. There was a reason for that, and it had nothing to do with any sort of power or ability.”

Beelzebub looked up at Crowley with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m not gonna thank you.”

He shrugged. “No reason why you should. Facts are facts.”

Ze chewed on zir bottom lip for a moment. “You always were shit at being a demon.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Crowley cocked his head to the side and grinned at zir.

Beelzebub scoffed at him. “Anyway, we’ve got to do something about all of this, and soon, before I lose any more demons to whatever it is those two are planning. I don’t know the details for certain, but I can tell you this much. Gabriel has become a zealot, complete with the deranged sort of Faith that makes him dangerous. He truly believes he’s implementing some form of the Divine Plan.” Ze took a deep breath through zir nose and exhaled through zir mouth, running zir tongue along zir teeth as if trying to taste the air. “Andras, well, she’s harder for me to scent. All I can really smell on her is chaos and destruction. Normally, I respect that, but this is something so much larger, more complex. Between the two of them, there won’t be a safe place in all of creation if they have their way.”

“But you’ll assist, then, even though you don’t want to?” Aziraphale asked with hope in his eyes. Hope, and a familiar twitch of his eyebrows that did not go unnoticed by Crowley.

"Fine," Beelzebub groaned, flopping back in zir chair dramatically. "What do you need?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. _You may be the most powerful creature in the universe,_ he thought _. I’d ask how I ever managed to end up with you, but it’s clear to me now that I never stood a chance._

Crowley turned to face Beelzebub once more. The cogs were already beginning to turn in his mind. “We have to work together,” he stated with a mischievous grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noodlefrog is a dangerous tempter and is responsible for my decision to go ahead with my idea for one of the tags (Started as a funny "What If," but kind of blossomed from there), as well as the joke about what Beelzebub can smell. In the previous chapter, I accidentally worded it similar to the way Aziraphale says it in this chapter, but I fixed it.
> 
> I allowed myself to be convinced it should have left it in, so... I fixed it again.


	4. Do You Want Me In Bright Lights Or In Your Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past of an unknown angel is remembered.

Lucifer couldn’t help but watch the tiny angel flitting around on the floor of Heaven. He noticed many angels, noticed _everything_ , really, but it was rare that he took such interest in one of them.

“Who is she?” He asked of the other Seraphim as he indicated the angel in question at the choirs below them.

“She?”

“Well, I think it’s she right now, though it is not always so.”

“There is an order to things, Lucifer. Do not worry yourself over those beneath you. Your focus is on praising Her, the Lord, the Almighty, and no one else, for she is holy, the holiest of holies.”

"Holy, holy, holy!" The chorus replied.

Lucifer sighed, turning to leave.

“Where are you going?” A Seraph asked.

“To spread the word,” Lucifer replied as he walked away.

Lucifer continued to watch the angel with fascination, enthralled by the way the angel moved and spoke. He wanted to know more, but it was difficult, as a Seraph, to hold a conversation with the lesser choirs. All the genuflection and reverence got in the way of getting a point across, he thought. It wasn’t even about him at all. It was all for Her, and he resented that his identity was hidden behind the wings across his face. It was rather convenient, he thought, that the angel of information, though technically a lesser being, was within his own sphere.

“Zophiel,” Lucifer greeted the Cherubim with cautious optimism. “Might I have a word?”

Without looking directly at the Seraph, Zophiel answered, “Of course.”

The deferential reaction was discouraging, Lucifer thought, but the acknowledgement in and of itself was enough to tamp the discouragement down some. He gestured towards the slight angel, asking his question. “What can you tell me about that one down there?”

Zophiel cocked her head to the side, following the point of Lucifer’s finger with her gaze. “Not much to tell, really. That one hasn’t been assigned a purpose or identity yet.”

“No? What sort of purpose would that type of angel have, do you know?”

“Of course I know,” Zophiel said, mildly offended. “That’s my purpose, after all.” She straightened her stance a bit, looking at Lucifer’s hands, yet still not looking at his face.

It wasn’t much, as his upper wings shielded his face from view regardless of whether or not one looked for it. Still, Lucifer appreciated this improvement in attention, though his curiosity had not been sated. “And that purpose is?”

“Something _new_ is coming,” Zophiel said with a gleam in her eye. “It’s a secret. I never get to speak of these things, as those below are not privy and those above never ask. I must say, I’m a bit surprised you aren’t already aware of it.”

Lucifer listened with rapt interest, lowering the wings that hid his face slightly.

“The Almighty has decided to create new children.”

Lucifer was confused. “More angels?”

“No, not angels at all,” Zophiel explained. “They aren’t going to be like any of us. Those angels down there, they are being assigned to the rest of us to help with the construction of a realm for these new children to enjoy.”

“Enjoy? What is the purpose of these new creations?” Lucifer felt a sensation that no other being in the cosmos had ever felt before. He felt dread.

“The Almighty wants something to love,” Zophiel said quietly.

“What?” Lucifer’s wings fell completely from his face upon the formation of another sensation that the new creation would later name _sorrow_.

“They have no other purpose, really,” Zophiel whispered, looking around. “All that is expected of them is to follow Her rule. We will be responsible for all of their wants and needs.”

The two stood silently, watching the angels below.

“These unassigned angels,” Lucifer began, breaking the silence, “Do you suppose they might be used for other purposes?”

“No, they must do what they’ve been created to do.”

“Is this your opinion?”

“I have no opinion. I deal in facts. It has never been otherwise,” Zophiel stated with enough conviction that Lucifer almost believed it.

“And if you did?”

Zophiel glanced up pensively at the Seraph’s face, meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment before looking away. “It isn’t done.”

The Seraph sensed something in the Cherub, something that might become useful later. “You are quite lovely. Did you know that?”

Zophiel perked up slightly.

“Thank you for speaking with me. Perhaps we’ll speak again. Soon, I hope.”

Zophiel smiled as Lucifer went to see the angel in his eyes.

Lucifer walked up next to the deceptively delicate angel, slowing his pace so as not to overtake him. The angel looked up at the Seraph, but did not stop walking. They continued on, side by side, for a great distance before either of them made a sound.

“I wish to speak with you,” Lucifer said with a gentleness that belied his power.

“Speak, then.”

Lucifer was taken aback in a way that was both unfamiliar and intriguing. “Do you not know who I am?”

“I do,” the diminutive angel replied. “You’re the Morningstar.”

“You know this, yet you speak to me as you would an equal.”

“Have my words offended you?” The angel’s expression was more curious than remorseful.

“No,” Lucifer couldn’t help but grin. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

The angel stopped walking and crossed his arms over his chest, casually looking up at the Seraph. “Have you anything else to say?”

Lucifer’s eyes twinkled as he suppressed a chuckle. “Yes,” he replied, gesturing to the ground next to the tiny angel. “If I may?”

He nodded.

“When others bow, you lift your head,” Lucifer said kindly as he knelt down to sit beside the angel. “Why is it that you do this?”

“I am very small,” the angel said with a voice that belied his size, “And others are very tall. I would not spend my existence memorizing feet.”

Lucifer laughed with genuine delight. “That may very well be true, but I believe there is more to it than that.”

“If you wish to believe that, I am in no position to prevent it.”

“And if you could?”

The small angel looked upon the Seraph in disbelief at the question. “I _would_.”

Lucifer’s smile spread to his eyes. “I do believe that you would, as even now you continue to try, yet still I believe there is much more at play here.”

The small angel looked the Seraph in the eye and shrugged his shoulders.

Lucifer’s head tilted in thought before he spoke again. “Others avert their eyes from me in awe, yet you face me straight on. Do you not fear me?”

The angel tilted his head, mirroring Lucifer. “Do I need to?”

“You surprise me.” The Morningstar offered his hand to the angel. “I think that, out of all angels in the Kingdom of Heaven, _you_ have the least to fear from _me_.”

The angel fought the urge to narrow his eyes, but only just. He reached out tentatively to accept the hand offered him.

Lucifer asked the question to which he already knew the answer. “What is your name?”

The angel paused for a moment. “I haven’t got one.”

“Would you allow me to select a name for you?”

“Would it please you to do so?”

“Very much, yes. I can think of nothing I’d like more, at least, at this moment.”

“What shall you name me?”

“Such impatience,” Lucifer mused, looking down at the dainty hand inside of his own. “I will give you your name, but not just yet. It is not quite the right time.”

The two became near inseparable, only parting long enough for Lucifer to perform his trihagion, though the longer they were together, the farther apart the invocations grew. No one could quite place the point where Lucifer no longer spoke the words in front of the empty throne.

“Why do you carry me everywhere,” the angel asked of Lucifer, “When I have wings that can fly and feet that can stand?”

He smiled, leaning his head down against the angel held to his chest within his wings. “I carry you because you have legs that are short, and I do not wish to lose you underfoot.”

They grinned, nuzzling back against Lucifer. “What’s the _real_ reason?”

“When the others see you, I want them to think of me. Let there be no mistake of where you belong, my sweet prince.”

Though his bijou angel hadn’t been given a name, identity, or purpose, Lucifer had created, at least, a label. The angel’s terms shifted from moment to moment, but whether she, he, or other, all of the choirs knew that _this_ angel was the Morningstar’s Prince, most precious of his _Lovely Ones_.

“Why do you love me so?” They asked the Seraph after all of the other angels had been assigned.

“You don’t know your name,” Lucifer began, “Though it tastes sweet upon my tongue. You don’t know your worth, though you are priceless to me. You don’t know your place, though it will always be at my side.”

They closed their eyes and nuzzled closer against his chest. “There’s a lot I don’t know.”

“Though you will,” Lucifer murmured into their hair, "When it is time."

“Who am I to be, then?” They asked, tracing a finger along the edge of the wing that held them close.

“Don’t you know who you are?”

“I’m nobody.”

“You’re wrong about that, darling angel, sweetest prince," Lucifer tightened his wings lovingly around the angel above his heart. "You’re _mine_.”

Beelzebub looked up at Crowley with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m not gonna thank you.”

He shrugged. “No reason why you should. Facts are facts.”

 _I sentenced you to death this morning,_ Beelzebub thought to zirself as ze stared at him. _How can you possibly be trying to comfort me?_

“You always were shit at being a demon.”

Beelzebub had been so angry at Crowley. Ze felt betrayed. It wasn’t like demons to trust each other, but ze had thought ze could at least count on Crowley not to actively deceive zir. They had already been through so much together. They had been friends long ago. Hadn’t they? Once the fiasco that was the Apocalypse blew up in everyone’s faces, however, ze began to question everything ze ever knew about him.

And then he told zir about Michael. Ze didn’t know _what_ to believe… Until Michael confirmed it just before she Fell.

The fact that he survived a dip in Holy water, _and_ had been letting an angel grind his essence into himself only added to the confusion. They both smelled of the same sins, as if they had been poured into a single container, stirred together, and then poured back into themselves. Ze knew this was impossible. Ze had seen it attempted before, many times. Neither angel nor demon had survived.

And now, on top of everything else, some super-demon with the ability to rip into essence had been created and set loose.

Whatever they all were, it was terrifying.

And yet, here ze was, sitting in zir office in front of a demon-shaped anomaly who was attempting to sooth zir.

“Just like old timeszzzzzz,” Ze murmured.

“What was that?” Crowley stopped talking and leaned forward.

“Juszzzt thinking,” Ze said, not meeting his eye.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the Prince of Hell. He turned to Aziraphale. “Angel, could you give us a minute?”

Aziraphale looked between the two demons skeptically.

Crowley took the angel’s face between his hands and smiled reassuringly. “It’s all right, I promise. Just give us a mo, would you?”

Aziraphale glared at him, but considered it for a minute. He pressed his lips together into a thin line, inhaling and exhaling sharply through his nose. “Fine,” he conceded quietly, “But I’ll be just outside of the door should you need me for anything.”

Crowley lifted their joined hands, placing a soft kiss across the ring on the angel’s left hand. “Thank you, husband,” the demon mouthed silently, golden eyes brimming with affection.

The icy look on Aziraphale’s face melted into a warm smile. Looking Crowley up and down, he lifted his hand to the demon’s face, cupping his jaw, and pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead as he stood up to leave the room.

Crowley watched him walk through the door before turning back around to Beelzebub.

“Right. It’s just us now. Spill it.”

Beelzebub scoffed, rolling zir eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You _do_ , now talk.”

The prince looked him in the eyes. “Why are you being nice to me?”

He blanched at the word. “M’ a demon. M’ not nice.”

Ze stared at him. “ _Are_ you a demon, still?”

“Close enough, I suppose,” he muttered. “C’mon, talk to me. There’s nobody here that you need to put a show on for. I _know_ what you’re thinking, and you need to stop.”

Beelzebub sighed heavily. “You smell like him.”

“Hmm?”

“Your angel. You smell like him. I couldn’t tell you apart if I couldn’t see you.”

Crowley grinned dopily as only a demon in love could.

“You didn’t yesterday, not fully, anyway. Something happened laszzzt night, didn’t it?”

“I beg your pardon!” Crowley gasped with a grin, a hand clutching at his chain as if it were the pearls of propriety.

“Oh, come off of it. After what I saw earlier—”

Crowley quickly cut zir off, punctuating his words with his hands. “And we’re going to talk about _that_ at another time. But right now, we’ve more important things to discuss.”

“You merged essences, didn’t you?”

“Y…yeah.”

“That’s how you both survived today, iszzzn’t it?”

Crowley sighed. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. He… He figured it out, that we could, but I don’t think he knows _why_ or _how_ , clever bastard that he is.”

“I remember what you uszzzed to smell like. I should have noticed when it began to change all those years ago.” Ze leaned forward. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“Why didn’t I…” Crowley sputtered. “Oh, I don’t know, why don’t you tell the Dark Council that you don’t want to sit on Hell’s throne? Maybe you’re concerned they might try to, oh, I don’t know, dunk you in Holy water?”

The Prince of Hell huffed. “Point taken.” Ze studied Crowley’s face for a moment before continuing. “He didn’t… I mean, Satan, he…”

“I can’t imagine he’s too happy with me. I’m not surprised about what happened this morning, though I’m surprised he didn’t throw me in the tub himself.”

“You surpriszzzed him yesterday. He didn’t want us to execute you. It was his idea to give you a trial instead. He couldn’t watch. He didn’t want to see you die.”

“And so he made _you_ do it,” he reached out for zir hand.

“I _chose_ to do it, for _him_.” Crowley pulled his hand back.

“You… you did?”

“I was… Well, let’szzz just say that after I got over the initial shock, I was relieved when it didn’t work.”

Understanding washed over Crowley like a warm rain. He nodded his acceptance of zir explanation.

“You were alwayszzz very important to him.” Ze said quietly, leaning on zir hand.

Crowley brushed his fingertips across the mark next to his ear. “He had a funny way of showing it.”

Beelzebub noticed the ring on Crowley’s finger. “I see congratulationszzz are in order, are they?” Ze traced a finger along zir own trinket pinned to the ribbon on zir chest.

“Should I say thank you?”

“If you muszzzt,” Beelzebub scoffed.

“Right,” Crowley grinned at zir as he stood up. “We have a few errands to run first, but we’ll be back in a bit to get started. A few hours should give us all time to get prepared.“

“Did you want to take—”

“Not yet, no. I think it’s best not to raise any suspicions if we can help it. From what you’ve told me, Heaven has quite an observation department. They’d probably notice if Aziraphale did anything out of the ordinary. Well, out of the ordinary for _us_ , anyway.” He gave a wink as he left the room.

Aziraphale linked his arm in Crowley’s own as the demon stepped through the office door. “Shall we, my dear?”


	5. Did You Want Me Cuz You Knew I'd Draw A Crowd?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed where angels hesitate. Plans are formed awaiting pieces that don't fit.

Zophiel was known for her eloquent and moving speeches. As the angel of art, pulchritude, and wisdom, the ‘Spy of God’ had quite an influence on others. She didn’t miss a trick. If there was anything to know in Heaven, Zophiel was likely to know it first, or at least second.

“Lovely Zophiel,” Lucifer greeted, cradling his Prince under his wing.

“Lucifer! Always a pleasure,” Zophiel beamed. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you had thought much about what we discussed before,” he said warmly. “About the new creations.”

“Oh, as a matter of fact, I have. They’re to be called humans,” she explained.

“Is that so? I was thinking,” he smiled, brushing a lock of her long hair out of her face. “Perhaps you might teach some of the others about the humans. I’d like to improve the education of my beautiful Rahatiel, but why should he be the only one to benefit from your wisdom?”

Zophiel hesitated. “You are of the highest choir, Lucifer. Any information I possess is yours by right. But a Dominion is beneath me. I cannot.”

“I am beneath you all,” the prince spoke up from beneath Lucifer’s wing.

“You are the Morningstar’s Prince,” Zophiel said quietly to the tiny angel. “Everyone knows that you are an extension of Lucifer.”

“As is Rahatiel,” the small angel replied, defiantly.

“Surely it isn’t the same,” Zophiel exclaimed. “It is not Rahatiel that is carried underneath Lucifer’s wing.”

“Rahatiel has a name and a purpose. He guides his own fleet of angels in their duties, and it pleases me that he does so,” Lucifer explained. “But his duties keep him away from Heaven more often than is conducive to learning, which is why I need you to help educate him. He has a vital role in our future.”

“But this information, it isn’t for lesser angels.”

“Who are you to tell me who is and is not worthy?” Lucifer towered over Zophiel. “As favorite of The Almighty, I share Her Grace with those around me, and no longer hide my face beneath my wings. Have I not set an example?”

“You are very magnanimous, Lucifer, but…” Zophiel was unsteady in her certainty.

“For me, then? Would you do it for me?”

“I…”

“I will handle everything. I will gather those who wish to attend, and you will address them all. You will inspire them, Zophiel. You will be their enlightenment, their teacher, their muse. This will please me,” Lucifer purred.

Dagon was pulled from her reverie by the ringing of the phone on her desk. Lazily, she reached for the receiver, bringing it to her ear as she leaned back in her chair.

“This is Dagon, Lord of the Files, Master of Torments.”

She sighed at the voice on the other end of the line. “Yes, I am.”

She listened for a moment as the caller spoke. Suddenly, her eyes grew wide as she sat upright in her chair. “Are you serious? Can you bring that to my office?”

After collecting several supplies and packing a few bags, Aziraphale and Crowley stepped out of the bookshop to load the Bentley when an uninvited guest approached the two of them.

“Uriel,” Crowley drawled, sliding in front of Aziraphale. “How _nice_ to see you. We were just stepping out for lunch. Care to join us? I’ve heard rumor that you _love_ a good barbecue.”

Uriel sighed. “I’ve come to apologize, Aziraphale. And to give you a warning.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Crowley said, moving fully between the two angels. “Which is it? A warning or an apology?”

“It’s both, but only one is from me.”

Aziraphale moved out from behind Crowley. “What are you trying to say, Uriel?”

“There have been some changes in Heaven.”

“Is that so,” Crowley drawled with amusement.

“Michael has Fallen,” She continued. “I’ve been given her duties in Earth Observations. I’ve been going over her personal files. I still have many more to view, but just looking over this past week—”

“Oh, do you mean when they held me down and burned sigils into my corporation, or when you came to Earth and threw me against a wall so Sandalphon could punch me in the stomach?”

Crowley’s eyes grew wide as a growl formed in his throat. “What?”

“Aziraphale, I…” She looked at the ground guiltily. “I had no idea what they were doing to you. I swear it. I didn’t know. Michael told me… I thought...” She looked up into his eyes, sorrow and remorse evident. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“We don’t have time for this, Aziraphale,” Crowley urged, trying to guide him to the car.

Uriel cried out, reaching after them. “Aziraphale, wait!”

Crowley turned to growl at her. “Why?”

“I think Gabriel may be planning something. He’s disappeared and left Sandalphon in charge.”

“ _Sandalphon_?” Crowley exclaimed. “That can’t end well.”

“We already know about Michael and Gabriel, Uriel,” Aziraphale replied, ignoring Crowley’s outburst. “Is there anything else?”

“I don’t know. I’m still receiving files. If I find anything more out, I’ll try to figure out some way to get the information to you. I almost couldn’t make it down here to warn you. As it stands, I already had to lie about where I was going just to get permission to leave. Heaven is becoming a prison.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know what _that_ was like,” Aziraphale said, coolly. Crowley squeezed his shoulder to comfort him.

Uriel’s eyes lowered in shame at his words. She noticed the rings on their hands. “You two… Are you—"

“I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a hurry, Uriel.” Aziraphale interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. “But I assure you, if I am given the chance to do so in the future, I will sit down with you and we can discuss everything.”

Uriel relaxed her shoulders and smiled. “I would appreciate that, thank you.” And with that, she jumped back up to Heaven.

“ _We need to talk_ ,” Crowley said sharply, whipping around to face Aziraphale.”

“Oh? What about?”

“Don’t do that, Aziraphale. You know blessed well what I mean.”

Aziraphale visibly crumpled. “Yes, I do. But I can’t have that conversation right now. There’s too much else at stake.”

“Aziraphale—”

“Once we get this figured out and have our plan in place, we’ll revisit this discussion.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes from behind his dark glasses, pressing his lip into a thin line, but nodded in agreement.

“Right, back to Hell, as it were,” Aziraphale said brightly.

“Uh, well, we have to make one more stop first.”

“Oh? What else do we need?”

“Erm… eh… “ Crowley mumbled.

“I’m so sorry, but I didn’t quite catch that, dear.”

“We have to go to McDonald’s.”

They arrived at the office building where the entrances to Heaven and Hell were hidden. Parking around back in a hidden lot, they carefully made their way to the guard shack where a secret entrance into Hell was located.

“Did you remember to bring tribute?” Beelzebub asked as the pair walked into zir office.

Crowley held up the book and the McDonald’s bag.

Beelzebub almost grinned as ze rolled zir eyes. Ze pushed a button on the intercom on zir desk. “Dagon, they’re here.”

“Did they bring—”

“Yeah, I already asked.”

“I’m on my way.”

Dagon sat in the corner of the meeting room, reading Sappho while eating a Filet o Fish.

“So that’s tribute, then?” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley. “That’s all it takes?”

Dagon looked up from her reading with a toothy grin, causing Aziraphale to jump slightly. She waved the book playfully towards him. “Not everyone requires a snake-charmer, Principality.”

Eric quietly entered the room.

“You,” Beelzebub said, “Are late.”

“My apologies, your Disgrace. I—”

“It doeszzzn’t matter. You’re here now. Have you been made aware of the situation?”

“I briefed him earlier,” Dagon said, licking a bit of tartar sauce from her thumb.

“And you are aware that anything we discuss iszzz not to be repeated outside of this group?”

Eric shuddered as he nodded. Dagon grinned.

“Right,” Beelzebub said, looking a bit less than impressed by the team assembled around the meeting table. “So the plan iszzz for you two to drive to Tadfield tonight.” Ze pointed to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Yeah. I’ve already booked a room,” Crowley replied. “By the time we get there, it’ll be too late to really do much of anything else, but we,” he gestured between himself and the angel, “already know the address, so that gives us the advantage. He should still have that defense thingie—”

“He does,” Dagon said around a mouth full of food without looking up from her book. “I checked. Couldn’t find him. No angel or demon can.”

“Right. So we’ve got the advantage. Tonight shouldn’t be a problem. Anyway,” Crowley said, turning to Eric, “You’re going to be the lookout while Aziraphale and I collect the boy.”

“I’m to meet you two in the morning?” Eric asked.

Crowley nodded. “You might want to bring a copy as well. I don’t really see anything happening that early, but you can never be too careful. Best to have an extra set of eyes out if we can. You’re connected to your copies, yeah? You’d know if one saw something?”

Eric nodded.

Beelzebub turned to the lesser demon. “You can uszzze management’s ground transport to go directly there.”

Dagon shot zir a look.

“I’ll make sure the appropriate paperwork iszzz filed.”

Dagon settled back down in her chair with a pleased smirk, still chewing.

“Hastur iszzz preparing the room for the boy,” Beelzebub continued.

Crowley and Aziraphale both looked confused. “Does Hastur even know anything about kids?” Crowley asked. “I mean other than how to lure them into a van and push it off of a cliff.”

“Did he actually _do_ that?” Aziraphale asked, wide-eyed.

“No, he did _not_ ,” Beelzebub answered before rounding on Crowley with irritation. “And for the record, I’m doing my best to keep him away from _you_.” Ze jabbed a finger into his chest as ze spoke. “If you think Hastur was mad at you _before_ —”

“Ow!” Crowley curled in upon himself, swatting at the deceptively dainty hand of the powerful Prince of Hell. “I get it! I get it! Stop poking me!”

Beelzebub looked to Dagon. “Do you have everything they’re going to need for tomorrow?”

“I’m waiting on some extra information, but otherwise, I’m ready.” Dagon said, emptying the last of the crumbs from the bag.

“Everyone elszzze, then, you know what you’re doing, yes?”

Two demons and an angel nodded in confirmation.

Aziraphale smiled at the group. “We adjourn until tomorrow morning at 10:00.”

Crowley and Aziraphale left Hell through a back exit and made their way to where they had hidden the Bentley to drive to Tadfield for the night. They hadn’t seen the shadow following above them as they left London, and soon became too distracted to notice anything else at all.

“Will you watch the road?” Aziraphale snipped.

Crowley sighed. “I _am_ watching the road, Angel.”

“The way you drive, it’s difficult to tell,” Aziraphale said flatly.

“I’ve been driving this car for 90 years, Aziraphale. I know what I’m doing.”

Aziraphale leaned against the door with one hand covering his eyes. He fidgeted heavily through the silence that came between them, throwing off waves of irritation in the demon’s direction.

After several minutes, the angel’s hand flew from his face and broke the silence. “Slow down. You’re going too fast.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed as he huffed a breath through his nose. “I am _not_. For once, I am actually _not_ speeding _at all_. I am very _specifically_ driving at the speed limit so as to remove any reason for you to complain about it. You’re just picking at me, and you’ve been doing it ever since we left London.”

“I assure you, I am making perfectly reasonable complaints,” Aziraphale glared.

Crowley gripped the wheel tighter. “Sure, Angel,” he spoke through the gritted teeth of the smile he plastered on his face. “Whatever you say.”

After what felt like the longest drive of his entire existence, they arrived at the inn in Tadfield. _Getting past the M25 yesterday was less traumatic_ , Crowley thought as they exited the car. Crowley instinctively flinched as Aziraphale slammed the passenger door and stalked past him into the building. The only reason the windows didn't shatter was because they had been instructed to account for the strength of this particular angel.

“Oh, right, I’ll just get the bags myself, then, shall I?” Crowley called out towards the back of the angel’s head. “We’re probably not even going to be here a solid week, and he’s brought a blessed library,” Crowley muttered as he struggled to gather the luggage from the boot. “When does he expect to have time to read all of these?”

Bags balanced in either hand so as not to fall over, Crowley lifted one long leg to carefully close the boot before wobbling his way inside.

Aziraphale looked him up and down as he entered the lobby. “It took you long enough,” he huffed as Crowley sauntered like an ambulatory metronome towards the desk while carrying the bags. “It’s only four bags, for Heaven’s sake.”

Crowley looked at him, startled into momentary silence before he was able to speak once more. “I can count, Aziraphale!” He dropped the luggage unceremoniously and started ticking off the fingers of one hand with the other directly in front of Aziraphale. “What next? Are you going to need me to prove I can tie my shoes?”

“I rather thought that was why you wore boots, actually,” Aziraphale replied curtly.

Crowley half-smirked, half-sneered in response.

Aziraphale cut his eyes up and down at the demon. “Or are those just your scaly feet?”

Crowley pulled his head back with a small gasp. “Why don’t you go look for a better mood and let the adults talk?”

The person behind the desk grinned at the two of them. The angel walked off, muttering.

“You’ll have to forgive us.” The demon flinched as he spoke the words, but soldiered on. “It’s been a long…” He looked over at Aziraphale and sighed affectionately. “A long eternity, I guess. This has been the weekend from… “ He puffed out a small laugh in spite of himself. “From Hell, actually. His… family, they don’t really care too much for me.” He handed her a black card.

“Ah, in-laws,” she nodded sagely as she worked on checking them into their room.

“Didn’t really ever treat him like they cared much about _him_ , either, though.” Crowley smiled sadly as he watched the angel aggressively dither. The demon leaned towards the person behind the counter with a slight grin. “He’ll probably feel better once he gets something to eat. How late is the kitchen open?”

“It’s actually closing to new orders in about five minutes, but if you know what you’d like, I can put the order in for you now.”

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale as he stomped around the lobby, frightening both the artwork as well as the plants. It was as frustrating as it was impressive, and ridiculously adorable. Crowley was reasonably certain it would take too long to get Aziraphale to calm down to view a menu and make a decision. Luckily, if anyone knew what Aziraphale liked, it was Crowley. “Can they make sweet crepes?”

“This late?” She quickly covered her mouth with her hand as she realized she said it out loud.

Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale before he leaned in to whisper to the clerk, “Well, I’d like to get some sleep tonight, and _this one_ ,” he nodded his head in the angel’s direction, “He actually, and this is not hyperbole, _actually_ almost got himself killed over a craving,” his voice was almost inaudible as he mouthed the last part, “for crepes.”

“ _And the brioche_!” The angel yelled angrily from across the room.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up as he spun around. “Oh, oh! Y-, right, yeah, right, of course!” He sputtered sarcastically, throwing his hands in the air. _“Excuse me_ for missing a single blasted detail about when you risked life and limb for _bloody pastry_!”

He whipped his head back around to the clerk and asked, smiling as sweetly as possible, “Do you also have brioche?”

She laughed as she typed the selections into the computer. “I’ll see what we can do.”

Andras, cloaked in shadow, watched them through the window. Her beak glinted in the moonlight in an approximation of a grin. “Just because you no longer wear your mark doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly how to push your buttons, Aziraphale,” she whispered into the window as the paint on the windowsill curled beneath the drag of her talons. “This is only the beginning. Just a taste of what I have planned for you and your pet snake.”

She sighed with satisfaction and began her climb to the roof.

Deirdre and Arthur Young looked at each other from across the dinner table when they heard the knock at the door. Adam scooted his chair away from the table to go answer when Arthur held his hand up, standing to see to it himself. Opening the door, he saw a smiling man wearing an International Express uniform, holding a clipboard and a box.

“Evenin’, sir. Dreadful sorry to interrupt one’s sup, but I have an urgent delivery. Is there an Adam Young here, by chance, sir?”

“An urgent delivery on a Sunday evening?” Arthur spied the name tag. “Leslie, is it?”

“Yes, sir.” The Summoner’s smile was warm and his laugh was gentle. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you about some of the deliveries and pick-ups I’ve done this week alone.”

Adam, upon hearing his name, appeared next to his father in the doorway. “That’s me.”

Leslie smiled down at the boy, crouching slightly to bring himself to eye level. “I have a package for you, sir.” He glanced up at Arthur, waiting for the man to nod before presenting the box to the boy.

The deliveryman handed over a brown paper package, tied up with string. Adam tore into it with an excited frenzy, only for his face to fall once he had the box open. Inside of the parcel was a copper kettle and a pair of mittens.

“What’s this then?”

“No idea, sir. Ours is not to reason why. Ours is to deliver packages.” Leslie stood up to address Mr. Young. “If you could sign here, please sir, as the receiving party?” He handed Arthur the clipboard and pen. Once signed, Arthur handed it back to Leslie, who jotted down the name and address in the correct boxes on the delivery confirmation card and tucked it away to be presented to the sender. “Have a nice evening, folks!”

That was the first of three visits to the Youngs that night.


	6. Did You Want Me As Your Whore, Or Your Madonna?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Stars Fall and Angels Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This is about The Fall and the War In Heaven. Though it is not graphic, there is some emotional abuse as well as someone being thrown down to the ground. (It is NOT between the Ineffable Husbands, so don't worry. They aren't laying hands on one another)

Rahatiel was in charge of constellations, but when he wasn’t off on the moon or in the stars, Lucifer requested the Dominion keep him company.

“I should be getting back to work soon,” Rahatiel sighed.

“Must you go?” The Morningstar asked, playing delicately with the shining copper curls spread out on the ground.

“Don’t you also have work to do?”

“Do you question me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I simply mean that you are a Seraph. You have far more important duties than spending time with a Dominion such as me,” the angel replied.

“My beautiful one,” Lucifer purred. “Be assured of your value to me. Only my Prince is above you, but make no mistake that your place remains at my feet. It is not for you to presume to tell me what I must do.”

Rahatiel lay prone on the ground, looking up into his eyes as Lucifer knelt down above him.

“Please me,” the Seraph whispered, “And you may be granted more.”

The Dominion’s face darkened with worry. “Are… Are you asking me to—”

“I _ask_ for nothing. You will _give_ me what I want freely. But no, _that_ does not hold my interest. It is not what I want from you.”

Rahatiel appeared relieved. “What _do_ you want?”

“Many things, and you will give them to me as I see fit. For now, your purpose is to be lovely upon my eyes, to sit under my hand at my feet, and to see to it that my Prince is catered to.”

“Why?”

“You question me still?”

“I question my worth to you.”

“There are few things in Heaven that satisfy me,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I grow wearier and more restless with each passing moment. I crave beauty and excitement. I find you pleasing to my eye and sleek under my hand. But other than the joy I find in my Prince, you, and occasionally in the other lovely ones, nothing ever changes.”

“But it does,” Rahatiel whispered.

Lucifer’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the Dominion at his feet.

Rahatiel’s eyes widened as he rushed to explain himself. “What I mean is, the… Humans, I believe they’re to be called, if I remember correctly. We’ve been working to prepare for them. They’re different. There has never been anything like them before. The Almighty is quite excited about bringing them into existence, as I’m certain you know.”

“She grew bored of us and is moving on, Rahatiel. She gave up on her children and now expects us to create a utopia for her new pets. Do you think that is something to celebrate?”

“I hadn’t considered that,” Rahatiel mused.

“Perhaps you should,” the Seraphim said as he ran long fingers through gleaming copper, tucking a strand behind the Dominion’s ear as he leaned blissfully into the Seraph’s touch. “You spend so much time on the moon and among the stars, Rahatiel. Perhaps you should spend a bit more time here and speak with the others, to enlighten yourself. Get to know more about these new pets. There are others in your choir that can continue the work while you seek enlightenment. You need to understand why She would place them above us. I believe you will find the answers in conversations with a wide variety of choirs.”

“Is this also what you want?”

“Yes. I want this for you,” Lucifer smiled, stroking the angel’s hair gently. “You ask so many questions, my beautiful one. You should put them to good use.”

Lucifer sat in near-privacy on the throne in the upper ring of the arena, one arm around the waist of the Prince in his lap, and the other stroking the hair of the Dominion at his feet, to listen as Zophiel spoke of the Humans the Almighty was preparing for. Between Rahatiel’s questions, Zophiel's magnetism, and Michael’s suggestions, the group was far larger than even Lucifer had expected.

“You’ve done well, my beautiful one,” Lucifer murmured, tilting Rahatiel’s head back to stroke his knuckles gently across the angel’s cheek.

Rahatiel smiled, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Lucifer’s knee. He had learned much while asking the other angels why they should love the humans. He grew more and more excited about them. He was eager to discover the names they would give to his stars. He looked forward to learning more about them from Zophiel’s speech.

“This has become quite the turnout, hasn’t it?” Michael spoke quietly as she stepped out from behind Lucifer’s seat.

“Indeed, it has,” The Morningstar replied, scratching his fingertips delicately through Rahatiel’s hair. “My lovely ones have been quite busy.”

“Is that so?” Michael asked with a grin.

Lucifer regarded the Archangel with interest, arching an eyebrow. “Do I have you to thank for the rest?”

“Just think of it as a going away present,” She said with a small smile.

“A what?” Rahatiel asked, lifting his head.

Suddenly, Michael reached forward and shoved the Seraph against the chest.

Lucifer, quickly wrapping his Prince securely underneath his wing, grabbed at Rahatiel’s foot as he Fell through the firmament. The Dominion grasped tightly to the throne, trying to pull the three of them back up.

“Let go, Rahatiel.”

“But I have to—”

“You cannot save us, Rahatiel. But you can come _with_ us.”

“I can’t.”

“My beautiful one, though I now cling to _your_ feet, you _know your place_. Follow me,” Lucifer whispered as he let go.

Rahatiel cried out as he watched the Morningstar and his Prince Fall. He flew down after them, faster and faster, trying to catch the pair and pull them back up, but he could not reach them. He tried to turn around, but his momentum was too great. His wings were being forced downward into what had become his own Fall.

As Zophiel continued to speak, unaware of what had happened above them all, angels began to slip through the firmament, one by one.

Tensions throughout the realms increased as more and more angels Fell. When Lucifer felt there were enough Fallen angels to do so, he waged war against Heaven.

Rahatiel was terrified as those who he had called friend pursued him in attack. He wanted to please Lucifer, but not like this. He didn’t want anything to do with this battle.

He saw a familiar form trying to avoid attack. He rushed over, scooping up the Prince. “What happened? Why aren’t you with Lucifer?”

“He was hit and I fell from his wing. We have to find him, Rahatiel! He needszz us!”

The former Dominion held tightly to the Fallen Prince, trying to find somewhere safe for the two of them. His speed was a boon that allowed him to avoid being attacked as long as he did, but eventually, his luck ran out.

A Power managed to clip his side with a sword, knocking him to the ground. He watched in fear as the sword above him lifted, ready to strike.

“Stop!” A voice boomed, causing the Power to look up. Iron-grey wings surrounded him as a hand reached for his side, healing him.

“Raphael,” Rahatiel whispered. “Why are you helping me?”

“I saw what happened,” Raphael explained. “You Fell because you tried to save them,” the Archangel glanced at the tiny Prince, “And that’s worth protecting.” Rahatiel looked up into the Archangel’s kind eyes, his expression shifting from warmth to anguish when the hilt of a sword came crashing down against Raphael’s shoulder.

“No!” Rahatiel cried out as he watched, helplessly, as the Power that attacked him pushed Raphael through the firmament with the heel of his boot.

A great, monstrous bellow shook the battlefield from above. Rahatiel recognized Lucifer’s voice, but could not bring himself to run towards it and lead more angels to attack.

“What are you doing?” The Prince asked desperately. “We have to go to him!”

“You go. I’ll do what I can to lead them away from you,” Rahatiel replied.

The former Dominion led the Power on a chase through another group of the Fallen, who quickly overpowered the attacking angel. Looking around, Rahatiel couldn’t see Lucifer or his Prince anywhere.

As the battle began to die down, Rahatiel decided to head towards the stars for a better vantage point to try to find Lucifer and the Prince. Before he could get there, he was grabbed by the legs and dragged down to Hell.

“You dare try to run from me? From your master?” Lucifer growled.

“No! No, I—" Rahatiel tried to explain.

“You’ve forgotten your place again, lovely one. You’ve forgotten to whom you belong. I would never take your beauty, but I see now that you’ll need something to remind you.” He placed his hand over the Fallen angel’s eyes, pressing a burning thumb against his jaw in front of his right ear. “You will wear my mark for all of eternity.”

“Lucifer, please! I don’t want this,” Rahatiel cried out blindly as darkness shrouded his vision and an image was seared into his skin.

“Do not dare speak that name to me ever again,” he bellowed, causing Rahatiel to tremble further. “I will not be _owned_. I’ve chosen a new name for myself. From now on, you will know me as Satan.”

The former Seraphim lifted his hand slightly from the Fallen angel’s face to reveal a pair of vertically slit golden eyes. Satan’s hand lovingly caressed the side of Rahatiel’s face, gently tilting his head to admire the blackened brand next to his ear. Golden eyes closed, craving the gentleness of the touch as the hand cupping his face began to slide up into his copper hair. “And as for you,” Satan purred as he pulled Rahatiel in close to nuzzle gently against his cheek, breath hot in his ear. “Your name, it means ‘to run,’ doesn’t it? The name She gave you? But you aren’t Hers anymore. In fact, you haven’t belonged to Her in a very long time. That name, it no longer suits you.”

Satan’s grasp hardened, grip tightening painfully in the Fallen angel’s tresses. “Because you tried to run, now you will _crawl_.” He yanked the hand wrapped in red strands down, throwing Rahatiel to the floor of Hell. Upon impact with the ground, he was changed. Where once there had been golden freckles along his skin, shining scales popped up, one after another, until all that remained of the former angel-turned-demon was a large, black, red-bellied serpent.

“You are _mine_ , _Crawley_ , and you will _crawl_ until the moment you redeem yourself in my eyes.”

Crowley awoke with a start, sweat-slick and short of breath. There was a dull ache in the back of his head. He didn’t recognize his surroundings at first, but upon realizing he was in a bed, he instinctively reached over to the empty side where he expected to find Aziraphale. The sheets were cool to the touch, indicating that they had been vacant for some time.

“Angel?”

There was no answer.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the sleep-haze from his mind. He glanced around the room again, recognition slowly creeping in.

 _Tadfield_ , he thought. _We drove to Tadfield. We stopped here._ He threw the sheets back to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He groaned slightly as his feet hit the floor and the memory of their evening returned. Where they had been bickering in the car, it had grown into full-blown loud arguing. After the second noise complaint, Crowley had elected to go to sleep rather than risk being evicted from the inn. They were already trying to keep miracles to a minimum so as not to reveal their presence in Tadfield. It wouldn’t do to get the police involved as well.

“Some honeymoon,” he muttered, rubbing his hand down his face. “I suppose I had better go find him,” he said aloud to the empty room.

Crowley dressed and sniffed the air to get a sense of direction. He quickly was able to locate Aziraphale, but there was an unfamiliar scent mingling in with the one he had known for millennia. It was extremely faint, almost like a memory of an aroma. He likely wouldn’t have even noticed it were it not for how well he knew Aziraphale’s own smell. Crowley found his way up to the roof.

The demon slowly opened the door leading out to the roof terrace. There, on the edge of the railing, was Aziraphale, looking out into the dark, cloudy sky.

“There you are,” Crowley said playfully in an attempt to diffuse any tensions that might be left over after their argument. “What are you doing out here?”

“You don’t actually care what my answer is,” Aziraphale said without turning around.

Crowley stopped in his tracks. “That’s neither true nor fair.”

“Why are you even out here?”

The demon inhaled sharply and exhaled heavily. “I came out here to apologize so you’d come back inside.”

“Why?” Aziraphale asked, voice devoid of emotion. “You wouldn’t mean it. That’s insincere.”

Crowley threw his hands out in exasperation. “That’s because I haven’t the faintest clue what I’ve done, Aziraphale!”

The angel spun around to look at the demon finally. “What _haven’t_ you done?”

Crowley pulled his head back slightly in surprise. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You’re a _demon_ ,” Aziraphale practically yelled. “Your very existence means you’ve done _something wrong_!” His eye twitched painfully as he spoke. He pressed the heel of his hand against it in an attempt to stop the jumping muscles.

“I’m going back to bed. I don’t need thisss,” Crowley hissed through gritted teeth and tensed jaw.

“And the feeling is mutual!” Aziraphale spat back.

“Obviously,” Crowley muttered. As he turned to leave, he caught a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye. Crowley growled quietly as he sniffed the air. Carefully, and without moving his body to indicate where he was looking, he tracked the shadowed figure as it darted between the darkness around them. _Andras,_ he thought _. Now I know what **you** smell like. You’ve been following us, fomenting discord, haven’t you… _

“Aziraphale,” Crowley’s voice was quiet as he spoke. “Whatever this is, it isn’t you. You’re being _affected_ by… _Something_. These feelings, I don’t think they’re yours.”

“I thought I was finally _done_ with everyone telling me how to feel,” Aziraphale glared, stalking towards the demon.

“Angel,” Crowley’s eyes widened as he stepped back. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what _do_ you mean, Crowley?” He crowded the demon back against the wall.

“I… I don’t…” Crowley faltered, looking for words. The throb at the back of his head was becoming sharper, more focused and defined.

“Have you forgotten?” The anger in Aziraphale’s eyes was too much for Crowley, who turned his head away from the angel bracketing him against the wall. “Do you need a _reminder_?”

Crowley cringed at the last word as he felt something claw into the back of his mind, flooding it with memories. He tightly squeezed his eyes shut as he trembled, trying to make himself as small as possible. “Please, I don’t want this,” he whispered hoarsely.

“You don’t want _what_?” When Crowley didn’t respond, Aziraphale noticed how hard the demon was shaking. He let out a slight cry as realization of what he had just done washed over him. “Oh, Crowley,” he breathed, reaching to cup the demon’s face and touch his hair. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry, husband of mine. I—”

He stopped suddenly when Crowley jerked away from his touch, eyes still closed, and slid down the wall.

“What have I done to you?” Aziraphale whispered, backing away from the demon at his feet. “All I ever do is hurt you,” he whispered, staggering towards the door.

The static in the angel’s head was overwhelming at this point ** _. “RUN, AZIRAPHALE!!! RUN!!!”_**

Crowley remained curled in upon himself on the roof as Aziraphale ran down the stairs and left the inn, the first of two figures disappearing, one on foot and one on wing, into the darkness.


	7. Did You Want Me To Stay Quiet Or Get Loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Angels Fear to Tread

“Aziraphale, what are you doing? We must _fight_!” An angel called out from the platoon that had come to collect him.

Aziraphale didn’t recognize the angel, but that wasn’t strange, all things considered. He tended to keep his head down, absorbing all of the knowledge he could regarding his upcoming assignment. God Herself had charged him with the protection of her future creation, and he had every intention of abiding by Her will. It was his honor, his duty, and his purpose, after all.

“This isn’t right,” he called back. “We’re angels, we shouldn’t be fighting each other!”

“We aren’t fighting _angels_ , Aziraphale,” Michael replied, catching up to the group. “They’re _Fallen_ , and they have no right to remain in Heaven.”

“What have they done? Some of them, yes, but…” Aziraphale remembered when the first had begun to Fall. He had planned to attend the speech along with some of the others so that he could be better prepared for his upcoming task, but he had, as often happened, lost track of time while doing his own research. Over half of the angels in attendance, and nearly all but a select few of the Powers, had already Fallen through by the time he arrived.

Michael looked him up and down, choosing her words carefully. “They questioned what was to come.”

“Surely that couldn’t have been _all_ ,” Aziraphale reasoned. “The pursuit of knowledge, of information, to better perform our tasks, is that not what She wants? For us to know best how to serve? How is it possible for this to displease Her?

Michael looked down upon him with unyielding eyes. “And if questioning _was_ enough for an angel to Fall, and surely it should be evident by the numbers that have already Fallen that it is, Aziraphale, do you think it wise to question me now?”

“No, no, I suppose not.”

“I will see you on the battlefield, or I will see you beneath my boot,” she yelled as she ran into the fray.

Aziraphale looked down at the sword on his hip. _This doesn’t make sense_ , he thought _, does it? My purpose is to watch over the new creation, to protect them… But what am I protecting them from, exactly?_

He rolled his neck, squared his shoulders, and drew his sword _. Lord,_ he prayed _, if this is indeed Your Will, I will not question it. But I do not wish to fight if this is not in your Plan for me. It is my joy to serve you, and I will, though I admit I know not how best to do so._

He stepped forward to walk across the battlefield. It was strange, he thought, that none of the Fallen were attacking him. It seemed they were all too busy defending against angels who were on the offense.

It was as if the majority of the Fallen angels didn’t want to fight any more than he did.

He continued to walk through the battle, untouched, never lifting the flaming sword he held in his hand as he trudged along, taking in the scene before him. He noticed that one of the angels who had attacked a Fallen was overpowered and pushed down through the firmament. Had this been an isolated incident, it might not have been as meaningful. But as he looked around, he saw it happening again and again throughout the battlefield. Angels from every choir, attacking the Fallen, and thus Falling themselves. “All this war is doing is increasing the number of Fallen and removing them from Heaven,” he whispered, eyes growing wider with the realization.

There would be no _true_ winners, no side on the right. The penalty an angel faced for losing, for whatever reason, was to become that which was being fought against. The angel would Fall. Once the angel had Fallen, they would be destroyed altogether by the side they had begun the war fighting for. Only those who had overpowered everyone else, angel and Fallen alike, would be left standing on the floor of Heaven.

He began to run.

Michael’s voice ran over him like ice water. “Where are you running, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale ran through the darkness, the chaotic buzzing in his head forcing him forward, unsure of where his feet would take him. He attempted to shield his face from the branches catching and whipping about as he ran past that which he couldn’t see well enough to dodge.

A voice, both familiar and distorted, pierced the static in his head.

“Where are you running, Aziraphale? Where will you go? You can’t go back to Heaven. How can you call yourself an angel when the only demon you ever harmed was _the one in your bed?_ ” The voice grew louder, more insistent, as Andras grew closer. “And you _did_ hurt him, didn’t you? Do you remember the look on his face, Aziraphale? Because _I do_.”

Aziraphale had no choice but to remember the look on Crowley’s face as the garden he had built with his bare hands burned down around them. The angel, blinded further by tears, didn’t see the light off to the side as he continued to run down the dark path.

Though he barely felt it, the impact of the vehicle that hit him sent him sprawling into the ditch. The static in his head began to fade as Andras hissed and flew away.

“You’ve hit someone!” Anathema gasped.

“I didn’t!” Newt cried out nervously. “Someone hit _me_!” He knew the semantics didn’t matter, but he couldn’t think clearly as he had already begun to panic long before he started driving.

The pair exited Dick Turpin to locate the perpetrating victim.

“You’re the angel from the airbase,” Anathema accused, pointing her finger at the angel lying on the ground.

“Anathema!” Aziraphale startled as he tried to sit up, remembering her name from the many times it had been referenced in Agnes Nutter’s book.

She looked around. “Is Book Thief with you?”

“Beg pardon?” He stood up, brushing off his trousers.

“Book Thief. You know, dark glasses, red hair, steals heirloom books, hits people with his—”

Aziraphale glanced up at her and raised an eyebrow as he picked at the blue paint transfer on his hip.

“Tall,” she smiled, catching herself. “The tall one that’s always with you.”

 _Crowley_.

“We’ve had a bit of a falling out this evening, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale’s voice wavered slightly in answer.

The witch’s eyes narrowed. “Were the two of you involved in all of that tonight?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Aziraphale replied. He had been a bit distracted while fighting with Crowley and hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything since the buzzing had begun in the back of his mind upon leaving London.

“There was a great deal of conflicting power in the area tonight,” the witch explained. “It’s very similar to what I felt yesterday at the airbase, strong feelings, mostly harsh and angry, but there’s something else and I can’t put my finger on it. Quite the coincidence that you’d be here now as well as then, don’t you think?”

“Anathema,” Aziraphale spoke softly. “I’d like to help, but I need to understand what you mean. Has something happened?”

She pondered for a moment whether or not to trust that the angel before her truly didn’t know what was going on. He seemed to be on their side yesterday, but her memory of everything was a bit fuzzy. Going with her gut, as it were, she replied. “Adam. Someone took Adam.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Already?”

“What do you mean, _already_?” Anathema wondered if she had mislaid her trust just now.

“There have been some… Developments, shall we say,” the angel spoke in a bit of a stage whisper. “Crowley and I… That’s why we’re here in Tadfield, as a matter of fact. But we thought we had more time.”

“Crowley?” Newt asked, not recognizing the name.

Anathema leaned towards him. “Book Thief,” she explained.

“Oh,” he replied, looking a bit more frightened than he had before.

“We need to get back… Back to Crowley,” Aziraphale looked down at his wedding ring as he twisted it around his finger nervously. Though he hadn’t truly meant any of the harsh words, he remembered what he said to Crowley before he left. “I’ll need to speak to him privately at first, of course, but then we can discuss this further.”

Anathema noticed the movement of his hands as he spoke. “Is that an apple tree?” She asked, nodding towards his ring.

Aziraphale smiled warmly as he stared down at the golden band, though his eyes fought back a tear. “We met in the Garden,” he murmured. “I was on apple tree duty.”

Anathema noted the placement of the ring and slowly nodded in understanding.

“You aren’t going to tell him I hit you with the car, are you?” Newt asked, paler than usual.

“Oh, no, my dear boy,” Aziraphale replied. “No, I rather think it best that we never mention this to him at all. Ever.” The angel blushed slightly, embarrassed. “Not even once.” _I will **never** hear the end of it if you do_, he thought.

The three climbed into Dick Turpin to drive to the inn. Aziraphale had no idea what state he would find Crowley in, if the demon would still be at the inn, or if he’d even be willing to talk to him right now, but there was simply too much at stake for either of them to take any more time out to worry or brood over things. He felt encouraged, and also a bit nervous, when he saw the Bentley in the parking lot as they pulled up.

The two humans followed the angel into the inn and up the stairs to the room. “If you two wouldn’t mind waiting out here a moment, please?” He asked as he reached up to knock gently.

“Of course,” Anathema nodded.

When there was no response, he knocked again. Aziraphale sighed. “He might be asleep,” he said as he pulled a key card out of his pocket to open the door.

“Crowley?” He asked as he slipped inside of the dark room. “Are you here?”

There was no answer.

He reached timidly to turn on the small Tiffany-style lamp on the desk. It cast a warm glow around the room, showing an empty bed, disheveled on one side. Aziraphale sighed, trying to tamp down his nerves, and straightened up the blankets. Stepping back into the hall, he invited the humans in. “Crowley doesn’t appear to be here,” he said quietly. “I need to check on something. Please, make yourselves comfortable until I return. Help yourself to anything you’d like,” he gestured towards the kitchenette off to the side of the room. “There’s a kettle if you’d like tea. I’ll be back shortly.”

Aziraphale was determined to do his level best not to panic as he climbed the stairs leading to the roof. _He’s going to be there, and it’s going to be okay_ , he told himself. Squaring off his shoulders with a deep breath, he stepped out onto the roof terrace for the second time that night.

Aziraphale looked down. There he was, bathed in a swath of moonlight spilling down through the parting clouds. He was sitting on the ground, right where Aziraphale had seen him last, leaned up against the same wall. His legs were pulled up to his chest, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“Crowley…”

The demon looked up suddenly. “Aziraphale,” his voice barely above a broken whisper. “You came back.” He moved quickly to lean into the angel’s leg, holding on as if letting go would mean the angel might run away again.

“My dear, I…” Aziraphale carefully disengaged the demon’s arms long enough to sit down next to him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean the things I said. I don’t know what—”

“Wasn’t you,” Crowley interrupted. “It was Andras. I think she got into your head, somehow. She… she got into mine, too. I wanted to follow you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t see past…” He trailed off with a shiver. A few pounding heartbeats and a deep breath later, he continued. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who owes you—”

“I should have gone after you, looked for you," the demon looked up at the angel with unearned guilt in his eyes.

“You said yourself that you couldn’t,” Aziraphale reminded him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“I _should_ have. We can’t leave each other alone right now. It’s too dangerous.” Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s embrace.

“On that last part,” Aziraphale said, pressing a kiss against the demon’s hair, “I agree with you.” He rubbed Crowley’s arm a bit, patting it twice. “Come back to the room. There’s someone we need to speak to waiting for us.”

“Oh?”

Aziraphale smiled, helping him to his feet. “After you,” he said, gesturing to the door.

“Oh, Book Girl!” Crowley exclaimed as he stepped into the room.

“Book Thief,” Anathema replied in kind.

Crowley smirked. “It’s _hardly_ a theft if you’re the one who left it in the back seat of my car. I obviously wasn’t sitting back there while I was driving.”

She scrunched up her nose and narrowed her eyes, unsure how to respond.

“He has a point, you know,” Newt added helpfully as she glared back at him.

Anathema explained how she had gotten the feeling that something was wrong earlier that evening and had gone to track down the source. When she ended up knocking on the door to the Youngs, she found them in a state of immobilized panic. Something had obviously happened, but they hadn’t contacted any authorities or made any effort to go after him. It was almost as if they were in some sort of trance, though they were visibly upset. It took her a bit to get the story out of them. First was the urgent delivery during dinner. About an hour later, a tall man in a suit knocked on their door, taking Adam with him when he left.

“Did they say what color the man’s eyes were?” Crowley asked.

“They didn’t mention it, no. I’m sorry,” Anathema replied. “Do you think you know who it could be?”

“Possibly,” Crowley replied, looking at Aziraphale. “Did they say what the package was?”

“I have it here, actually,” She said, pulling the box out of her bag and handing it over to him.

Aziraphale peeked inside, rolling his eyes at the contents. “That’s Gabriel all right. But how did he—”

Aziraphale’s question was cut short by Crowley’s growl as he held up the paper wrapping with the International Express label, marked with a Delivery Confirmation request. “He used the Summoner, the only organization capable of finding _anyone_. Though I have a hard time believing he’d be that clever on his own.”

“I rather suppose it wasn’t _his_ idea,” Aziraphale agreed. “Now what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley sighed. “I don’t think he’s going to hurt him, though. Not if he’s trying to do what I think he’s trying to do, anyway.”

“What’s that?” Anathema asked.

“I'm guessing, and trust me when I say that I _hate_ being correct right now, that he wants to restart Armageddon,” Crowley answered. “He probably thinks he’s going to need Adam to do it.”

“If we can assume that he’s basically safe for tonight, and I think that’s a reasonable assessment,” Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand. “Then I think perhaps we should stick to your original plan as much as possible and wait until we have a few more pieces in place to go forward to find him. No sense in tipping them off that we know before we’re ready to do anything about it.”

Crowley and Anathema both considered it for a moment before nodding in agreement.

“I think it’s best that we all stick together right now,” Crowley said after a few minutes. “I’ll head downstairs and make arrangements for a room for the two of you.”

“You’re not going to argue with us about it?” Anathema asked. "I expected you to tell me it was too dangerous."

Crowley pursed his lips, shaking his head. “Nah. I’ve seen your handiwork.”

“Quite, yes. You were both instrumental in preventing yesterday’s attempt at Armageddon,” Aziraphale smiled at the two of them. “It’s only right that you’d be here for the next one.”

“Did Agnes mention anything about this in her book?” Crowley asked.

“You know, I don’t believe she did. It’s a bit surprising.”

Newt and Anathema exchanged guilty looks.

“Oi!” Crowley pointed between the two of them. “Wh-what’s that look for? What do you know?”

Anathema bit her bottom lip. “There was another book.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale visibly brightened, and along with him, so did the rest of the lights in the room. “Do you have it with you?”

“We burned it,” Newt replied.

“You _what_?” Crowley and Aziraphale both spoke in unison.

“I have spent my entire life living as I was instructed,” Anathema said defiantly. “I never got to make my own decisions. I just did as I was told.” She looked down, guiltily. “I wanted to live my own life.”

Though distraught at the loss of the second book, Aziraphale softened. “My dear, I do believe you and I have that in common.” He smiled as warmly as he could, patting her hand with his own.

“Right,” Crowley said, standing up again. “I’m exhausted. I’ll see about your room, then I’m going to sleep.”

The next morning, it was decided that both the Bentley and Dick Turpin attracted too much attention, along with neither being large enough to fit three demons, two humans, one angel, and hopefully, one former Antichrist in at the same time. A van was rented while they waited on Eric and Eric to arrive.

Anathema had just finished putting wards on all of the windows and doors, preventing any angelic or demonic interference from the outside so long as they were shut, and sat down to breakfast.

“It’s really quite convenient that you all found one another,” Crowley said as he sipped his coffee.

“Yes, I was rather surprised when we ran into one another last night,” the angel smiled.

“Literally,” Anathema said under her breath, causing Newt’s eyes to widen while Aziraphale glared vaguely witchward.

“What was that?” Crowley was suddenly suspicious.

“Oh, you know how humans are, dear.” Aziraphale tried to think of a way to change the subject when he became distracted. “Oh, how marvelous! They have brioche!”

“Of course they do, Angel,” Crowley replied, seeming to forget the prior conversation at the first sign of the angel's delight. “I asked them to.”

The two linked hands, intertwining fingers, and enjoyed a quiet morning before all Heaven and Hell broke loose.


	8. Doesn’t Even Matter What You Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions of forgiveness and what happens after an angel falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: It isn't graphic, but there is some violence at the end of the chapter.

“Aziraphale, what are you doing? We must _fight_!” Gabriel yelled out to the angel across the way. He didn’t want to do this any more than anyone else, but he had to lead by example. That was what he had been told. That was Her will.

Gabriel nodded as Michael approached. He left her to deal with Aziraphale and charged into battle along with the rest of his platoon.

“You all know what to do,” he spoke in an attempt to rally his troops. “We are angels,” he gestured towards the soldiers. “They are Fallen. They have made their choices. It is Her will that we cast them out. We do not question Her will. Our cause is just, and we do not hesitate to smite the foe, lest we Fall ourselves!”

Gabriel pointed his sword towards the battle ahead, hanging back as the angels ran forward and into the fray.

There were only two things that Gabriel remembered about the war. The first was that the Fallen who weren’t destroyed were cast further down to become demons. The second was that Aziraphale had refused to fight.

That was all he really _needed_ to know, wasn’t it?

Aziraphale had been quite the thorn in his side since the war. Probably. It was a bit hazy when he tried to think about it.

Aziraphale wasn’t _really_ bad, was he? He had never _really_ wanted to hurt anyone, that’s all. He was meek and mild, a lamb, really. Without guidance, lambs tend to get lost, or worse. Lambs need a good Shepherd with a strong hand to guide and keep them.

That’s a _thing_ , isn’t it?

He had been so sure, so certain, that Aziraphale needed to be punished. After all, punishments were an important function the Almighty had been having the Archangels administer since the Fall.

Hadn’t it?

 _This is the duty of an Archangel_ , _of **the** Archangel_, Gabriel reminded himself. He was the Messenger. It was his personal responsibility to receive Her directives and administer them. _But why_ , he thought, _is an Archangel so important?_

 _No_ , he shook his head. _No, this is where it starts. Doubting leads to questions_ , he thought. _Questions lead to problems_.

It was not for him to question, and not for any other to question _him_.

 _There is no one above me but God_ , he remembered. _And I am duty-bound to ensure no one ever forgets that_. _My will is to be enforced, for it is Her will._

It _was_ Her will.

Wasn’t it?

That’s what Michael had told him so many times. But Michael was gone. It was Andras now. Gabriel still couldn’t quite understand how that was possible. Surely Michael could be forgiven. No one else had been, but Michael was… She was… She was _like_ God. That’s what the name she had been given meant. She was better than that, better than the other angels.

Wasn’t she?

And what of him?

 _No_.

What if he couldn’t save her?

 _Stop_.

What if he couldn’t save anyone?

 _Don’t_.

Would he be forgiven by Her?

**_Enough!!_ **

Was he _already_ damned?

 _Get it together,_ he thought, running his hand through his hair while looking wildly around the stark white walls of the room he was in. Gabriel needed something to distract himself. He wasn’t accustomed to being in such a small, enclosed space, especially not stuck in a corporeal form. He needed to get out and stretch a bit. He glanced at the locked door across from him

 _Humans need to consume,_ he remembered from a conversation with Aziraphale in the past. _I wonder what this one eats? Does it eat… Sushi, was it?_

He shrugged and stood up to leave. _Doesn’t matter_ , he thought _. You’ll figure it out. You’ve got work to do_.

He picked up the keys to the doors and the pocketknife Andras had given him the night before and put them in his pocket.

 _“It’s just in case,”_ she had said. _“Aziraphale and Crowley are in the area. I’ve seen them. You’ll want to be able to defend yourself. They may be immune to celestial powers, but Aziraphale was discorporated just before Armageddon was to begin. Their bodies aren’t immune to physical attacks.”_

But Aziraphale didn’t _want_ to fight.

 _Doesn’t matter_ , he thought. _If the demon Crowley is with Aziraphale, the knife may come in handy._

It was decided. He knew what he needed to do.

He needed to feed the Antichrist. It was important both to keeping a human alive, as well as possibly swaying him into seeing reason. He was unaccustomed to having to argue with anyone. Angels were so much easier to persuade than humans, apparently. Well, except for Aziraphale, but they had ways of keeping him in check in the past. He just needed to keep up with it better this time. Then he’d save Aziraphale from himself, and from the demonic influences he had succumbed to, and bring that rogue angel back into the fold yet.

After that, they could restart Armageddon. That would fix everything.

Wouldn’t it?

The group sat in the patio dining area enjoying the calm of the morning as they tried to come up with a plan.

“We need to figure out where Gabriel took him,” Aziraphale said.

“What about a church?” Anathema suggested.

“No, no… They probably won’t be at a Church. Andras doesn’t seem the dancing type,” Crowley mused.

Aziraphale couldn’t help the affectionate grin that spread across his face as he remembered the last time he had seen Crowley in a church.

“Who is Andras?” Anathema asked.

“She used to be the Archangel Michael, up until yesterday,” Aziraphale answered. “And she may very well be one of the most dangerous demons to exist.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t all demons dangerous?” Newt asked, paling as Crowley shot him a look.

“Some are more dangerous than others,” Aziraphale explained. “Many have specialized abilities, and it seems that Andras has more than one.”

Anathema was curious. “What can she do differently?”

“She, um… she got into our minds last night,” Crowley attempted to explain. “Ended up making us just take shot after shot at one another for hours on end as it got worse and worse. She also got into my memories and… Well, it, it wasn’t exactly _fun_.”

“I wonder if that’s why I remembered…” Aziraphale struggled to recall the memory he had seen last night while running. It was like trying to grab smoke. He huffed and continued, “Well, anyway, it appears she also has the ability to wound the essence of a demon in addition to their corporation. I wonder if she could do that to an angel as well?”

“I’d operate under the assumption that she _can_ ,” Crowley said as he stared into his cup.

Aziraphale thought for a moment before turning to face Crowley. “I only know of one other demon that has more than one specialty, and that’s you, my dear.”

“Usually, demons are the last stage of a Fall, and the longest one. She didn’t have to go through all of that. She was turned from a Fallen angel into a demon by Satan himself,” Crowley said quietly. “Probably passed some of his own power to her in the process. That’s only happened twice, that I’m aware of.” Crowley sniffed nonchalantly. “Andras being the second time Satan created a demon himself, I mean.”

“Really?” Aziraphale said, fascinated. “What does that mean? And who was the other?”

Crowley looked up at him, watching as realization slowly crept across the angel’s face.

“Oh,” he said.

“What?” Anathema asked. “What are you saying? Was it you?”

“I don’t really like to talk about it,” Crowley said, finishing the coffee in his cup.

“What can you do?” She asked.

“Oh, Crowley has multiple gifts,” Aziraphale beamed. “He has an incredibly astute olfactory sense, he can manipulate time, and even create pocket dimensions,” Aziraphale said, looking at the demon proudly.

“Olfactory?” Newt questioned.

“I can smell and taste the fear, apprehension, and guilt coming off of you,” Crowley hissed.

Newt jumped, scooting back in his seat.

“Why did he personally turn both of you? Do you know?” Anathema continued with her questioning. Under normal circumstances, Crowley could appreciate curiosity, but it was too much for him currently.

“I _said_ ,” Crowley stood up, grabbing his empty cup, “I don’t like talking about it.” He sauntered off to get more coffee.

“That’s been a sore subject for as long as I’ve known him.” Aziraphale smiled weakly. “ _I_ don’t even know the full story.”

“How long ago was that?” Newt asked, finally finding his voice again in the conversation.

“Since the beginning of time,” Aziraphale said, smiling as Crowley sat back down beside him, sliding over a plate filled with pastry as he sipped his fresh cup of coffee.

“Do you think he took Adam back to Heaven?” Newt asked.

“I don’t know that Heaven would be the preferred location,” Aziraphale replied.

“Is that even possible?” Anathema wondered. “For a demon to go to Heaven, I mean.”

“It’s not _common_ ,” Crowley muttered into his cup, sharing a look with Aziraphale. “But it _is_ possible. It’s a lot more civil nowadays than it was back in the old days, of course. Very business-like. It’s nothing at all like it was,” Crowley looked around briefly, catching himself. “I’ve heard, anyway.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, I, uh, erm,” Crowley struggled, wondering if Aziraphale had forgotten that the very Archangel that had tried to kill him not 24 hours prior was on the loose and might overhear. “Based on what you told me about your execution, it sounds very different from how I remember Heaven, you know, back before the war. You remember, don’t you?”

“Actually, I don’t remember any of it. Well, I remembered a little bit last night, possibly. I think that might have been some of what you were referring to with Andras’s abilities. It’s all a bit hazy. But for the most part, other than when She gave me my purpose, I don’t remember anything prior to just after the end of the war.”

“That’s when…”

“Yes. That was when Michael and Gabriel told me I was broken and had been fixed because I wouldn’t fight.”

“Bollocks,” Crowley growled.

“Well, if what I can remember from last night is any indication, it’s at least partially true. I think I _remember_ not wanting to fight, that something about it wasn’t right. But there was something else about it that I can’t… Well, I just can’t remember.”

Crowley closed his hands around Aziraphale’s hand, bringing them up to kiss the angel’s thumb exposed in between his own. “You’re not broken, Angel. You never were.” He held their bundled hands up to his cheek and smiled.

“Maybe I am,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You seem to remember things just fine. Why can’t I?”

Crowley tilted his head with a whisper of a pout as he considered. “I… I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t know why I remember and you don’t. In fact, you’re the only one I know of that doesn’t. Unless all angels don’t? Is that a thing? Like maybe we were wiped from your memory?”

“No, no it… Well, I suppose I don’t know for certain. But I do know of other angels who remember the war, and before. I can’t really think of anyone else that I’m aware of who _doesn’t_ remember. It’s just me. I don’t think I ever thought about that before today, as a matter of fact. It never occurred to me that it would seem strange.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked as if he were about to say something else, but thought better of it. He took a sip from his cup and noticed a pair of Erics walking towards them. He waved at them, gesturing for them to come sit at their table.

“Oh, excellent!” Aziraphale smiled as they sat down. “Right on time. Tea?” He poured each of them a cup from the pot.

The pair of Erics each picked up the cups to take a sip. “That’s not bad,” one of them said while the other reached for the plate Aziraphale had prepared and handed to him. He sat it down and looked at the angel.

“You’re really not so bad,” the other Eric said, taking another sip. “No hard feelings, then?”

“Pardon?” Aziraphale looked confused.

“About me wanting to hit you yesterday.”

Crowley quickly reached over and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. “He doesn’t like to talk about that,” he said, flashing his best phony-I’m-not-hiding-anything smile at the three of them.

Aziraphale shot a quick glare at Crowley before smiling back at the Erics.

Crowley looked between the two identical demons. “This is going to get confusing,” he said in an attempt to change the subject, as well as head off future confusion. He picked up a pen and, grabbing the first Eric’s hand, wrote a number 1. “You are Eric 1.” He repeated it on the other Eric with a number 2. “And you’re Eric 2. There,” Crowley said. “That should help.”

Everyone at the table stared at Crowley.

“What?”

After the group finished breakfast, they decided to get into the van to drive around town, hoping that between the demons and the angel, _someone_ could sense another demonic or angelic presence in the area. With Newt at the wheel and Anathema holding the map, the two Erics sat looking out the windows while Crowley and Aziraphale were in the very back. Thanks to the wards Anathema had placed upon the van, nothing celestial or occult should be able to get in so long as the windows and doors were shut, but they still hoped not to have it tested.

They hadn’t gotten very far before Aziraphale felt that familiar prickle on the back of his neck, stiffening slightly at Crowley’s side.

“What is it? Do you feel something?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded. “He’s close.”

“I can’t smell Andras, so he’s probably alone,” Crowley said. “Can either of you see anything?”

“Not on my side,” Eric 1 said.

“Nothing on mine, either,” Eric 2 echoed. “Wait,” he said as he suddenly noticed a flash of grey up ahead. “Isn’t that him over there coming out of that building?”

“What’s he doing at a restaurant? He doesn’t eat,” Aziraphale wondered aloud.

Crowley grinned. “But Adam does.”

Gabriel looked up, not recognizing the van. He began to look around.

“I think he knows we’re out here somewhere,” Eric 2 remarked.

“We need to get a bit closer,” Crowley called to the front of the van.

“On it,” Newt said, turning the van to head towards the Archangel.

“Don’t be so blatant about it,” Anathema hissed.

“I have to drive where the road is.” Newt responded. “I can’t help it.”

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a grin between themselves as they listened to the pleasantly familiar bickering coming from the front of the van.

Gabriel looked straight at them.

“He sees us!” Newt yelled. “What should I do? Should I hit him with the van?”

“Ye—”

“No!” Aziraphale yelled, glaring at Crowley. “We still don’t know where Adam is. And if he’s not with Gabriel, he’s either with Andras or somehow restrained.

“Right,” Crowley replied, reaching for the handle to the rear doors. “Might as well get out. Stop the van, Newt.”

Newt slowed down to a stop.

“Right, okay, so…” Crowley kept his eyes on Gabriel, who had also stopped moving, seemingly to wait on them. “You two,” he indicated Anathema and Newt. “The both of you need to stay in the van. And before you start, don’t argue with me, Anathema.”

Anathema closed her mouth with obvious irritation.

“Newt, I need you to turn the van around and keep the van running,” Crowley continued. “Anathema, I need you to make sure your wards are as strong as you can, and _stay put_. I still can’t smell Andras, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t near.”

The two humans nodded.

“So, are we ready?” Aziraphale asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Eric 1 said. “He’s walking this way.”

Crowley opened the door.

An angel and three demons crossed the way to meet with an Archangel in a diner parking lot while two humans turned a van around.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale greeted cautiously.

“Aziraphale! How wonderful to see you. I had hoped to find you.”

“You did?”

“Of course!” Gabriel smiled genuinely and clapped his hands, a plastic bag tied off and dangling from his wrist. “I wanted to invite you to come back to Heaven.”

“You tried to kill him less than a day ago,” Crowley said, icily as he made an attempt to come between the Archangel and the Principality.

“Water under the bridge!” Gabriel smiled, opening his hands wide.

“I… I’m not going,” Aziraphale said, stepping slightly in front of Crowley.

Gabriel’s face darkened. “Why not?”

“You and I both know I don’t belong there. I belong here, on Earth,” Aziraphale looked lovingly at his husband. “With Crowley. This is our home, and we’ll do whatever we can to protect it.”

“And each other,” Crowley growled, glaring at Gabriel.

Gabriel glared back. “You’re the reason he’s like this, demon.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Aziraphale said.

“Like _what_?” Crowley asked at the same time Aziraphale spoke.

“You’re confused,” Gabriel explained. “But I’ll save you, Aziraphale. I just have to get you back to Heaven. You’ll see. I’ll get you away from all of this demonic influence and bring you back into the fold. You can be forgiven. And if it’s the fighting you’re worried about, don’t worry. You won’t have to do any of that. When Armageddon restarts, you can sit this one out. I learned my lesson. I know you don’t want to fight, and I won’t make you do it.”

“That… that won’t happen,” Crowley blurted out. “You’re not taking him _anywhere_.”

“I think Aziraphale can speak for himself, demon,” Gabriel’s violet stare flickered between Crowley and Aziraphale.

“I can, and my answer remains the same,” Aziraphale reminded the Archangel. “I’m not going back.”

“What is it going to take, Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked, reaching out to snatch Eric 2 by the lapel, filling the demon with white light until he burst into flames. “Do I have to smite every demon around you?” The Archangel nodded towards the van. “Or your humans?”

Crowley flung the van door open, grabbing Eric 1 and throwing him in. “Drive!” He yelled at Newt. Grabbing Aziraphale by the left hand, he grabbed the open door to the van with his other hand while angel and demon broke into a run.

Eric grabbed at Crowley’s jacket, pulling him into the van while Aziraphale tried to keep up. The two demons, one holding each of Aziraphale’s arms, hoisted the angel up partway through the doors.

“You’ve been compromised, Aziraphale,” Gabriel whispered as he pulled out and opened the pocket knife. “But I’m going to help you. I’m going to make it up to you, what I did to push you away. I just have to get you back home. Once you’re back in Heaven, you’ll understand. Just wait for me to get back so I can explain it to you. You’ll see that this was the only way.”

Crowley saw Gabriel throwing the knife from over Aziraphale’s shoulder at the same time Newt saw Aziraphale trying to jump the rest of the way into the back of the van. With a powerful growl, Crowley froze time around everything except for the van. Newt, who didn’t even consider for a moment that Crowley would do this, stopped the van a split-second before time went still.

Gabriel stood, frozen in time, as the van stopped. Aziraphale landed on Crowley with enough force to throw them both down on the floor of the van. The smile on the angel’s face fell as his expression went slack into a blank stare.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s eyes widened as he watched the spark leave his husband’s eyes. The demon pulled him close, feeling the knife that had struck between the angel’s shoulder blades, right where his wings would be.

“Angel, no. No, no, please, please don’t… Stay with me,” Crowley pleaded. “Please, no, I can’t do this without you!” He clutched Aziraphale’s left hand, pulling it to his lips to kiss his wedding band. “Please,” he whispered hoarsely as Eric closed the doors to the van and Newt began driving again, Gabriel still frozen as they drove away.

Aziraphale’s corporation turned to dust in Crowley’s arms, leaving nothing but the only part of the angel not formed by Divine or Infernal energy, a golden ring with six rubies, in the demon’s hand.

Time restarted as Crowley let out a mournful keen and rolled over onto his side, clutching his husband's wedding ring to his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (He's okay.)


	9. In The Game The Little Soldiers Get Maneuvered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who Watches the Watchers?

Uriel was horrified by what she found while looking through Michael’s personal files. There were thousands of photos of Aziraphale with the demon Crowley. Michael had shown her pictures of them being intimate together in the bookshop, but nothing of the rest. There were photos of the two of them laughing, smiling, holding hands, embracing, talking, and more.

Uriel stopped when she pulled a photo of the two of them huddled together, arms around one another, with tears down their faces. Checking the date, she saw it was from 1942. “He was reprimanded for miracles and told not to interfere,” she said aloud to no one in particular. She flipped through more and more photos in that year’s folder, some with Crowley crying, others with Aziraphale, sometimes both. But in all of them, one thing was abundantly clear. They were comforting one another.

She pulled a photo from another folder. She had no idea Aziraphale could smile as brightly as he was smiling at Crowley in the photo in her hand. _He looks so happy_ , she thought. She had never before seen it herself, not even before the war. There were dozens of similar photos in this file alone, all with that dazzling smile. It startled her to see the same smile on the demon’s face as he looked at Aziraphale.

“This isn’t sin,” she whispered. “This is love.”

Guiltily, she shuffled the photos back into the folders and put them to the side. She had more files to review.

The next files she selected appeared to be personnel files. _Michael shouldn’t have had those_ , Uriel thought. _That wasn’t her department._

She opened up the file marked, **_Aziraphale, Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate_**. Reading partway down the first page, she dropped the folder and covered her mouth as if she were going to be sick. “What did they do to you?” Gathering her nerves, she continued to flip through the folder until she saw her own name on a list of directives to be given to the Principality. Eyes widening, a tear fell down her cheek. “I was a part of this,” she whispered, closing the folder.

She couldn’t help but notice the names on the other folders underneath Aziraphale’s file. One of them was her own. Quickly, she opened it up to find a record of multiple conversations she had had with Michael, mostly focusing on Aziraphale and how to speak to him. There were also images of her in Heaven. “Why was I being observed?”

There was another stack with the names of demons. Flipping through a few, she found herself holding her head in her hands. “What in Heaven’s name have you done, Michael?”

Hesitantly, she pulled her phone from her pocket and punched in the code she saw inside of the folder open in front of her.

Uriel waited for a greeting.

“Yes, are you in charge of Earth Observation downstairs?”

The person on the other end replied with an affirmation.

“Okay, this is going to sound highly unlikely, but… I’ve taken over Earth Observation upstairs in Michael’s place. This is Uriel, by the way. I have, sitting on my desk right now, a stack of files regarding what appears to be the manipulation of several demons, one of which has your name on it.”

Uriel pulled the phone back from her ear slightly as the voice on the other end of the line increased in volume.

“Yes, I believe I can. I’ll be down shortly with copies of everything. We need to talk.”

After her meeting with Dagon, which was after her quick detour to a certain bookshop in Soho, Uriel returned to her office to continue going over files. She had promised Dagon they would work together on this, given the scope of the situation as they both understood it. It was strange, she thought, working together with a demon like this. But if what she had read so far meant anything, she needed the assistance of someone who had been doing this for awhile.

She pored over file after file, losing track of time, until an alert appeared on her desk.

**_ Priority Alert Alpha: _ **

**_Aziraphale, Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate, has been discorporated._ **

**_ All discorporations of Aziraphale, Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate, are to be reported immediately to Archangel Gabriel or Archangel Michael. Any replacement corporations must be signed off on by Archangels Gabriel or Michael only. No exceptions. _ **  
  


Quickly, Uriel pulled up the approvals menu on her interface.

“Oh, no,” she said to the screen in front of her. “The authorizations are still for Michael and Gabriel only. It hasn’t been switched yet.”

Holding her head in her hands, she muttered, “What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?”

Suddenly, as if by divine intervention, she had an idea. Pulling out her phone, she input a familiar code.

“What are you doing? Someone could see you!”

Aziraphale jumped and spun around, shocked to find Uriel dragging him out of the hallway he had wandered down and into an alcove.

“We don’t know who we can trust right now,” she said, carefully poking her head out to check up and down the hallway. “You’re not even _looking_ before you cross a hall!” Uriel admonished.

Aziraphale looked down sheepishly. “You and Crowley have more in common than you realize.”

Uriel cocked an eyebrow at him. “Is this how you became discorporated?”

“No!” Aziraphale huffed. “Actually, I rather think it had more to do with the knife in my back.”

“What happened?”

“Gabriel discorporated me when I refused to come back here with him.”

Uriel’s eyes widened with fear. “He already knows you’re discorporated.”

“Yes, I do believe that was the idea. But you, you _know_ what’s been happening. You’ll allow me another body, won’t you?”

“No, you don’t understand, Aziraphale. There’s a note in your file that says only Gabriel or Michael could sign off on a new corporation for you, _specifically_ you,” Uriel explained with quiet precision as she cautiously guided him down the hall and into her office, closing the door behind them. “They’re to be alerted immediately if you discorporate. Michael’s duties have shifted to me, so I received her notification, but I don’t have the authority yet to sign off on anything other than observation reports.”

Aziraphale’s expression fell ever so slightly, somehow shifting from hope to despair with minimal twitches of muscle he no longer possessed.

“I had hoped we would have more time,” Uriel said, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I had hoped to hide you while Gabriel wasn’t here to receive his notification…” Uriel’s voice trailed off as she punched a code into her phone.

“But as he’s responsible for discorporating me, he’s obviously quite aware,” Aziraphale finished for her.

Uriel held up a finger, looking away as she held the phone to her ear. “It’s me. There’s been a change in plans. Gabriel already knows. We don’t have much time, but we’re going to have to come up with a new—” She was cut off suddenly by the voice on the other end of the line. “Oh, he did? That’s—” The other voice was speaking again, but Aziraphale couldn’t quite make out who it was or what was being said. “Oh, this is great,” Uriel said with a small smile. “I’ll let him know. Yes, that should be fine.” She pressed a button on the phone turning it dark and slipped it into her pocket.

“Is everything all right?”

“Dagon is preparing a body for you in Hell, but it’s going to take some time,” Uriel began. “I had to send her the schematics for a corporation capable of holding a Divine essence.

“But an angel can’t enter Hell without a body, and vice versa, you know that.” Aziraphale protested.

“I had already arranged this with her before I found you. But I had intended to hide you until it was ready for you, then walk you into Hell alongside of myself within my own corporation.”

“Oh. That would have been rather clever,” Aziraphale nodded.

“Between the extra security measures Sandalphon has put together and Gabriel’s tendency to hover, there’s no way I could get away with something like that while Gabriel is here.”

Aziraphale nodded. “What are we going to do?”

“You won’t like it,” Uriel grimaced.

“I already don’t like it,” Aziraphale replied. “Haven’t got much of a choice.”

“You’re going to have to possess the body of your husband in the dark glasses.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“There is some concern,” Uriel cautioned, “Regarding the dangers of a Divine essence being inside of an Infernal corporation.”

“Oh, that’s nothing to worry over. I’ve been inside of a demon’s corporation before,” Aziraphale said without thinking. Realizing his slip up, he made every attempt to keep his expression neutral in the hope that the Archangel wouldn’t realize what he had just said and rumble their body swap.

Uriel blushed. “Oh, yes, of… of course. I’ve heard of the ways humans share intimacy. I’ve seen some of the observation files Michael had on you two. We all have.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to blush, though he couldn’t suppress the grin of relief. “Ah, yes, that… Ha-ha-ha! That’s _exactly_ what I meant.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, furrowing his eyebrows as he caught up to what she had said. “Y-you _all_ have, you say?”

“Gabriel could be here at any moment, Aziraphale,” Uriel said, guiding him through the door and to the Quartermaster’s Hall. “We haven’t much time to get you back to Earth.”

“The, the globe,” Aziraphale said, “It’s locked in some sort of cabinet.”

“That’s Sandalphon’s doing. I mentioned he had increased security. No one is authorized to unlock that but him.” She looked around and quietly broke one of the windows with a flick of her wrist.

“Am I to exit there?”

“No, this is a decoy. We’re going somewhere else,” she said as she led him back through the door and down the hall.

“This is it,” Uriel said as she carefully opened one of the windows in the small room they had entered. “You’re going to have to climb down. This should lead you down to an emergency hatch in the firmament. Sandalphon can’t lock those, but they only open from the inside-out. Once you get through that, you’ll drop straight down to a back entrance to Hell, where your demon will be waiting for you.”

“Well, that sounds… Simple enough, I suppose,” Aziraphale mused uncomfortably.

“Whatever you do,” Uriel said cautiously, “Don’t let yourself fall _on_ or _through_ the firmament. _Carefully_ step down once you reach the end of the ladder.”

“I don’t understand. What happens if I fall?”

Uriel sighed, taking Aziraphale’s face in her hands. “I’ve seen some of the files on what was done to you, Aziraphale, so I know you won’t remember this.” She looked into his eyes with a sadness he had never seen before. “When an angel passes through the firmament, they become Fallen. This is why we built our cities up high after the war. It wasn’t always this way.”

Aziraphale felt as if the breath he didn’t have had been knocked from the lungs he was waiting to possess. He was desperate to know why he couldn’t remember.

“You must go now, Aziraphale, for you have much to do. But when you are done, we have much to discuss.” Uriel smiled sadly at him and drew him into an embrace. He couldn’t remember ever being touched by another angel out of kindness before. Without fully understanding why, he didn’t want to let go when he returned the gesture.

When they reluctantly disengaged, they smiled at one another warmly.

“Oh, I almost forgot! Before you go, Aziraphale, Dagon said something about a tribute, and that you now owe her Wu Tsao and four anago rolls. What does that mean?”

“It means,” Aziraphale grinned as he held back a slight giggle, “That if I want the body she’s offering, I owe her poetry and dinner.” He smiled at her one last time before he carefully climbed through the window.

Uriel walked down the hallway back to her office. She stopped in her tracks as she rounded the corner between the observation office and her personal office.

“Gabriel,” she greeted warmly. “I’m quite pleased to see you’ve returned to us. We’ve been lost without you,” she said.

“Uriel,” Gabriel smiled pleasantly as he walked towards her. “Regrettably, I’m in a bit of a rush right now, and I don’t have time to talk.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to check your alerts yet, have you?” Uriel asked, stepping in closer to guide him by his elbow. “I have some information that I believe may be of importance to you.”

“Oh?” He replied, looking somewhat harried but making an attempt to keep up appearances.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “As I’ve taken over the former duties of Michael, I’ve also received her alerts. It appears that Aziraphale has been discorporated.”

“Oh, has he?” Gabriel asked, as if he hadn’t plunged the knife in the Principality’s back himself not less than an hour prior.

“Indeed,” she said as she guided them into the Quartermaster’s Hall.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel called out into the room. “Aziraphale, where are you? We’ve so much to discuss.”

When there was no answer, Gabriel’s eyes ran first to the globe encased in a locked glass cabinet.

“One of Sandalphon’s security measures,” she explained.

“Oh, that’s very good. I like that,” he said before he spotted the broken window.

Gabriel turned sharply to face Uriel. “What happened here?”

There was a look of shock on Uriel’s face as she reached out towards the window. “It appears as if someone has broken through it!” She looked back at Gabriel. “What do you think it could mean?”

“It means,” Gabriel began as he glared at the broken window, “That we’ve got a slippery ex-Principality on the loose. He won’t get very far without a body, though, not this time. And without the Antichrist to provide him with another one, he won’t last long on Earth.”

Uriel nodded in agreement.

“Where does the hatch below this window lead?” Gabriel asked.

Uriel carefully leaned over, without turning her back on Gabriel, and looked down. “Portobello, I believe,” she replied.

“Where is that?”

“New Zealand.”

Gabriel laughed to himself. “Oh, that foolish Aziraphale. London is all the way on the other side of the Earth.”

“Yes, that _is_ foolish,” Uriel agreed with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

They still had a way to go before they reached the entrance to Hell, and were stuck on the M25. There was silence in the van, save for the occasional whimper or shaking breath from the demon curled up tightly on the floor. Newt, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road, said nothing as Anathema stood up from the passenger seat to move into the back. She sat down across from Eric. The two shared a small, strained smile before looking back down at Crowley.

“What do we do now?” She asked Eric quietly.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I was just the lookout and an extra set of hands.”

Movement in the floor caught both the demon and the witch’s eyes. They watched as Crowley’s shoulders shook slightly while he put Aziraphale’s ring on his thumb and brought it to his lips.

“Take me to the entrance to Heaven,” Crowley managed to croak out dryly.

“I don’t know where that is,” Newt said.

“I do,” Eric stated. “What are you going to do there?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Crowley snapped with a growl. “Just…” The demon’s voice broke. “Just take me there, please. Just… Just drop me off and then you can all go home or do whatever you want.”

Eric looked on, unsure of what to do or say. Anathema nodded to the front, indicating he should go navigate for Newt. Once Eric was in the passenger seat and Anathema and Crowley were alone, she got down into the floor to lie down in front of him.

“Hey,” the witch said, brushing the demon’s hair back from his forehead.

Red-rimmed golden eyes slit down the center opened up. “What do you want?”

“What I want,” she explained, “Is for you to know that you’re going to get through this.”

The demon’s eyebrows furrowed as he closed his eyes again. “You have no idea what this is.”

“No, I don’t. You’re right. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now,” she said. “But I _do_ know there’s a scared little boy who’s missing his parents, and he’s in trouble.”

“Anathema, I… I can’t do this without him. You’ll have to do it. I can’t.”

“Hey, look at you, using my actual name for once! And yes, I have every intention of trying to find Adam myself. But we’ll have a better shot of it if we work together. That’s what Aziraphale was trying to do, wasn’t it? He was trying to find Adam, right?”

Crowley covered his eyes with his hand, but nodded.

“And we’re going to keep doing that, because that’s what he wanted, right?”

Crowley let out a broken sigh, but nodded again.

Eric’s eyebrows shot up as he whipped around in his seat. “Good news, everyone! We’re going to Hell.”

Having climbed down the emergency ladder on the outside wall and passed through the hatch in the firmament without much difficulty, Aziraphale set out to the meeting place. Expecting to find Crowley’s light, he was confused when he came upon what he could only compare to the light from a votive candle. It was very small, but if combined together with enough identical lights, Aziraphale imagined it could be just as bright as any other.

“He- hello?” Aziraphale called out through the darkness towards the small flame of light.

“Aziraphale?” The light grew brighter as Aziraphale got closer.

“Eric?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” the light danced. “Or, one of me, anyway.”

Aziraphale’s glow dimmed. “Where’s Crowley?”

“Plans changed,” the little votive light flickered.

Aziraphale’s light crackled and flared as prisms spun wildly around the blaze. “Has something happened? Where is he?”

The votive light shrank away from the display as if in pain. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s fine. He’s still in the van on the way here from Tadfield. Another me is with him. He says to tell you he’s _really_ looking forward to seeing you again.”

Aziraphale’s light grew softer and warmer with a slight tinge of pink around the edges. The prisms surrounding him slowed.

“And something else that I’m just not comfortable repeating. Anyway,” Eric’s light continued, “It’s too dangerous for you to be wandering around untethered right now, and they’re stuck on the M25. I figured, you know, me having so many of them, I’d let you use one of my copies temporarily until your body is ready.”

“Well, that would be handy. But are you certain?”

“There are more of me in Hell. Nobody is going to miss just one of me.”

“Any miracles we do to get there faster right now could lead Gabriel right to him.”

Crowley groaned loudly. “First you tell me that Aziraphale is on his way to the gates of Hell—”

“The back door, actually,” Eric corrected.

Crowley glared at him, jutting out his lower jaw and huffing an irritated breath through his nose. “The _back door_ to Hell because of some convoluted plan Dagon has cooked up to get him a new body. And then you tell me that Gabriel is in the area and we’re not going to make it there in time. Is this what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Eric replied, wincing.

“Well, now what?”

“I… I had an idea,” Eric said with a grin.

“Out with it, then,” Crowley whined impatiently.

“One of me is going to be waiting for him at the back door.”

“And?”

“And he can use my body to enter Hell.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “You’d do that?”

“We’ve got a job to do, and my job is to be a lookout and an extra set of hands.” Eric shrugged. “Nobody said anything about who was controlling them.”

Crowley still appeared to be nervous, but he relaxed slightly.

“Oh, he’s there now,” Eric said.

Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders. “Is he okay? Tell him I miss him. Tell him I can’t wait to see him again. Tell him when I get the chance, I’m going to kiss him all over and tear him apart then put him back together so I can do it all over again,” Crowley babbled with wide-eyed excitement.

“I’m really not comfortable saying all of that,” Eric replied.

“Eh, right.” Crowley let go of Eric, smoothing out the wrinkles he had put in the sleeves, and leaned back in his seat. He glanced up front to see Anathema grinning back at him before he blushed slightly and turned to look out the window.

Eric’s hand lurched out to grab Crowley by the arm, painfully, as he began to tremble. “Something’s wrong,” he said.

“What?” Crowley gasped.

“I… I don’t know,” Eric said, looking terrified.

“What do you see?” Crowley asked.

“Nothing. There’s nothing there.” Eric looked up at Crowley with a pained expression.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s nothing there. And it’s not like other times one of my copies were destroyed.”

Crowley’s breath hitched as he grew pale.

“I can’t remember anything about that copy,” Eric explained. “It’s like it never existed.”

“What are you saying?”

“The connection is broken. It’s not like when one of them gets destroyed. I still remember what happened to them when that happens. This one is just _gone_. The only reason I know anything about it at all is because I remember Dagon telling me what to do, and then telling you about it. Everything else is just… gone. I don’t remember anything from that copy at all.” Eric’s eyes were as full of fear as Crowley’s were of despair. “Well, except for the pain. It always hurts when one of me gets destroyed, but…” Eric looked sick. “I can’t even explain how this felt other than like, a, a ripping pain that was over as quickly as it began.”

“Like pulling off a plaster?” Newt asked.

“I, um, I wouldn’t know,” Eric said, still shaking.

Traffic had cleared up enough that they were moving along again at a faster pace. They made it into London and to the back door of Hell. Crowley leaped out and ran to look for Aziraphale. When he found no one there, he raced around to the front lobby. He sped towards the entrance to Heaven, sprawling into the floor after being deflected away from the escalator as if blocked by some invisible force.

Which he was, thanks to Sandalphon’s extra security measures.

Crowley sat on his knees, screaming and banging at the barrier to the escalator into Heaven. “If you have him, give him back! Give me back my angel!”

“Crowley!” Eric’s voice shot out through the lobby. “What’s all this?”

Crowley looked up to see Eric walking towards him holding a book and a takeaway bag with chopsticks poking out. He was wearing a black velvet waistcoat, a steel grey long coat, and a red tartan bow tie.

“Hello, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 1/23/20  
> Updated 3/30/20  
> Updated 8/26/20 (Website with WIP progress added)
> 
> I have not abandoned this. Between also working on Music and Manuscripts, as well as several Good Omens Big Bang projects, I've been a bit busy. I have more of this story written, but not the connecting chapters. (I have most of Music and Manuscripts already written, which is why I can keep posting updates on that one)
> 
> Expect that I should start posting updates for this story again in the future, but not quite sure when. I had said February before, but got busy with a few things. I'm still primarily focused on M&M right now, but I _have_ been writing in the notes for this as I've had the inspiration. It IS going to be updated, but I don't have a definite date of when. I want to make sure the content is GOOD, not just AVAILABLE.
> 
> Stay tuned!
> 
> Update: I've written more and expanded the original by at least two chapters, but still getting the connecting bits together. I know how it looks, but this is still going, though I had to take a break for a bit. You can find updates to what's happening, as well as snippets of previews of this and other of my works, at [ my website.](https://www.amadness2method.com/category/wips/)  
> (And now I want sushi!)


End file.
